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He had cursed, two times within one day. Within five minutes, even, or maybe less. Not that it mattered anymore now, really. Not when he was up in Heaven and everyone was readying for the Apocalypse.
Gabriel was awaiting him in person. He wore a shiny armour, ancient and very impressive looking, but, of course, also annoyingly stylish. Not even during the Apocalypse would Gabriel allow himself to look anything other than perfect.
“Aziraphale,” he greeted him, and, as always, the name sounded sort of reproachful on his lips. Instinctively, Aziraphale twitched around at his clothing, although, of course, that didn't do much to improve his appearance.
“Uh, hullo,” he managed to say back, staring at the sword Gabriel was holding. He hadn't held this sword in centuries. Things were really getting serious if he had dug that old thing out for this. “I, uhm... This has been a mistake, you see. I was still taking care of some business in London, I agreed with the Metatron that I –“
“You're up here now,” Gabriel interrupted. “I don't see why there should be a problem with this.”
“Yes, well, you see –“ Aziraphale tried again, but Gabriel was already walking away from him. Aziraphale hurried to keep up with him, wringing his hands in antsy desperation. “Look,” he said, scurrying along beside the much taller angel, “I really have something to take care of down there, so if you please would give me another couple of moments in my bookshop, I am sure we can come up with a schedule that we –“
“There is nothing to take care of any longer,” Gabriel told him coldly. His harshness wasn't directed at Aziraphale. It was due to the tense situation and the battle that was about to come. Aziraphale wondered if Gabriel would prevent the Apocalypse from happening if he had a say in it. But it was in vain to ask this. Gabriel didn't have a say in it. And even if he wasn't happy about the ending of the world, he surely wasn't as eager as Aziraphale to stop it from happening somehow.
Aziraphale slowed down, then stopped entirely and gnawed at his lower lip. Gabriel didn't even notice. There was another angel he was heading for now, one that was much more important to him than Aziraphale was.
Aziraphale dithered, his fingers moving back and forth against each other uneasily, creating some grounding friction. He needed to get back down there somehow. He needed to message Crowley. He needed to get to Tadfield, and he –
“Armour up,” someone said behind him, and before Aziraphale could turn around completely, Hariphel had shoved a heap of metal into Aziraphale's perplexed arms. “There is no time to lose. The Apocalypse is coming.”
Well, so much for that...
“I, uh,” Aziraphale started, looking down at the armour in his arms. It looked far less elegant than Gabriel's and was overloaded with ornaments and trimmings. “Could I, you know... join you at the scene, then? There is still business I have to get sorted, and, you know, with time running up, I really should –“
“There is no time to lose,” Hariphel repeated. “Put the armour on and get yourself a sword, Aziraphale. Each of us will be fighting. This is the final battle and a great cause.”
“Yes, alright, of course,” Aziraphale muttered. He was still staring at the armour. He expected Hariphel to leave, to maybe give him the opportunity to vanish without anyone seeing, but he stayed where he was. He was watching. Intently. Through fierce, golden, acute eyes.
Biting his lip, Aziraphale put on the armour. There was no chance to be getting away right now. His only way of getting to Tadfield was to follow the army. They would be marching there too, after all, wouldn't they? Maybe when they got there, he would manage to slip away from them unnoticed.
~~~***~~~
The Bentley was on fire, but it was still driving. Crowley held it together with sheer force of will, gritting his teeth and holding on to the wheel so tightly that his knuckles stood out against his brown skin. It was almost the same colour as Aziraphale's hair was. He had often noticed that. But why would he think about that right now? Maybe because the angel was missing, and all he had left of him was the sheet of handwriting in the scorched old book and the colour of his hair that was almost like the one of his skin. And Crowley was missing him. Missing and needing him. And he wished he had at least said goodbye to him before Armageddon was starting.
He hissed lowly and drove even faster. He had to get to Tadfield. He had to stop the Apocalypse. He had to stop it so the world would keep turning, the humans were saved, and Aziraphale could be reincorporated. Ideally, Crowley would survive this whole thing, too. And maybe, hopefully, things could go back to how they had been before this.
~~~***~~~
"Yeah," said Adam. "That's what I thought. It's no good anyone winning. That's what I thought."
His gaze was fixed on Dog, but he didn't really see him. He was thinking. Sensing. The Apocalypse was already beginning. Heaven and Hell had gathered at the air base. It was only a question of minutes until they would begin the great battle.
Adam and the Them wouldn't make it there in time before it started. But maybe they could make it there before the end. They had to try it. They couldn't let any side win and take over their precious planet.
“I think you'd better go and get your bikes," he told them quietly. "I think we'd better sort of go and talk to some people."
~~~***~~~
Aziraphale had never seen so many angels and demons gathered in one spot. All of them were armoured, armed, and ready to fight. All of them were ready to kill each other. Aziraphale felt sick to the stomach, but he knew he couldn't just make them stop.
He scanned the lines of demons anxiously for about the dozenth time, searching them for Crowley, but he wasn't there. Aziraphale didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad sign. Maybe it meant they hadn't gotten to him yet and that he was still able to stop the Apocalypse. But maybe it also meant he had gotten into trouble and wasn't physically able to appear on the battlefield... Aziraphale didn't like that second option. It made his troubled stomach knot even tighter.
He didn't want Crowley to hurt. Sure, he wanted to stop the Apocalypse mostly because he loved earth and didn't want it to go up in flames, wanted to keep it going the way that it was now. But he also wanted things to stay the same for him and Crowley. He wanted to keep meeting him at the duck pond, wanted to go to the Ritz with him, to drive in his beloved car with him and listen to that strange kind of music that he had in there. He wanted to be with him, in one way or another. And he would never be able to cope with the loss of his –
A burning Bentley skidded to a halt in front of the air base gates. Aziraphale's heart jumped and froze in his chest at the very same time.
“Crowley is alive!” the jumping part said. “He has figured out about Tadfield and he has come to stop the Apocalypse! See? He is fine!”
“Look what he's gone through!” the freezing part said. “He must be half dead already! And what can he do to stop Armageddon? He is unarmed and unarmoured. He's going to die here.”
“I have to get to him,” Aziraphale himself said, but not out loud, because nobody should hear it. “Maybe together, we can find a way. Or if not, I can at least try to protect him from –“
A soundless scream pierced through Aziraphale and all the other angels around him. Now each part of his heart froze completely. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no! It started! It couldn't start yet! The Apocalypse wasn't allowed to happen!
Around him, dozens and hundreds of angels grabbed their weapons and leapt onto their opponents. Some of them shoved Aziraphale along with them, even though he himself was too stunned to move anything but his eyes that were locked on Crowley.
The Serpent disappeared in the chaos of the attacking forces of angels and demons and, once again, the thought crossed Aziraphale's mind that had been there before, spoken only to his hurting heart: I have to protect him. If I can't save the earth, I at least have to protect Crowley at all costs.
Gritting his teeth far too heavily, Aziraphale grabbed his flaming sword and hurled himself down to the ground. Surrounding him were feathers and limbs clad in armour, shields and blades and faces twisted in long nourished hatred, and it was almost impossible to escape the current of surging bodies. But Aziraphale would never forgive himself if he died without getting to Crowley. Or – far worse – if Crowley died because he wasn't with him.
Yelling loudly, he shoved aside his companions and allies and struggled through the battlefield, trying to find one special demon in the mess of fighting bodies.
~~~***~~~
Crowley had just left his burning Bentley when the battle broke loose. Suddenly, the air turned into a solid mass of limbs and weapons, of winged figures lashing at each other in a great turmoil of fury. All of them wanted to kill each other. This was absurd beyond any measure.
Crowley looked around helplessly, trying to figure out what to do now. Where was the Antichrist? Was he somewhere in the battle? He had to find him. If someone could make them stop their fighting, it was him and him alone.
But the chaos was perfect, miles and miles and miles of battling creatures, and how should Crowley find a child in all this madness?
For a second, another thought popped up in his head, a thought that connected straight to his heart and made it convulse in hope and agony. Was Aziraphale around somewhere? Maybe he could find him. Maybe together, they could –
Something flew towards him and just with a headlong jump to the side could Crowley avoid a flaming spear that now bore down to the hilt in the ground where he had stood just a second earlier. Okay. Finding the Antichrist had just become the worst idea in the history of ever, he decided. Every single one of these people was armoured, and he had nothing but the now slightly askew sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. How should he be able to get to Aziraphale, let alone the Antichrist? It would be a suicide mission, without even the slightest chance of success.
He adjusted his glasses and looked over to the battlefield, where squadrons of angels and legions of demons were fighting each other with the force of the hatred of millennia, both eager to turn this world into endless Heaven or endless Hell. No matter who won, Crowley would be done for. Hell was after him and Heaven wouldn't spare him, unless Aziraphale begged and vouched for him, maybe, and who knew if that even actually was an option or if Aziraphale even made it out alive of – … No. He couldn't even think that. If Aziraphale died, then hopefully someone would kill him, too.
But still, in the end, it came down to dying anyway. So if there still was the slightest chance to stop the Apocalypse, shouldn't he take it? Wasn't it better to die trying to do something than to die after having waited for the end?
He picked himself up to his feet and straightened his jacket. Maybe Agnes had foreseen this. Maybe he should check the Prophecies to see if it said something about the Antichrist in there. Where he was in the battle. What Crowley should do. But he had no time right now. There were over 4000 of them in that damn book and they were not in any order. Who knew where the right one was? If he took too long to search it, the battle would be over and then he had waited till the end to do something. No. If the Antichrist was in there somewhere, he should be able to find him. He surely would be noticeable somehow, being what he was being.
Crowley looked around and reached for an iron rod that lay beside the gate in a toolbox. Someone had probably tried to repair some damage the storm had done to the fence here earlier and had left the box standing right there, far more concerned to save their life now than to make sure the air base's fence was intact. It, of course, was no good in that sort of battle. But maybe it could buy him some time. That was all he could hope for in this hopeless situation.
“And I ain't gonna lose,” Crowley muttered and grabbed the iron rod tighter. Then he let the gate swing open, took a last second to pray to whomever, and entered the battlefield.
~~~***~~~
Aziraphale had lost his bearings completely. There were so many people around him that either pushed him aside or that he had to avoid on his own that it was impossible to tell whether he had gotten closer to Crowley or further away from him, or even where Crowley's position was. Still, he did his best to get closer to him somehow. If he couldn't stop the Apocalypse, he at least wanted to save Crowley.
He stopped on a free spot between the fighting or already fallen bodies to have a look around. He saw Keteral pierce a demon with a spear. He saw Seraphin going down under a vicious attack of two demons. He saw Gabriel and Raphael fighting side by side, like they had done since the Beginning, always having each other's backs. It was easier for them to save their loved one. At least they knew where their loved one was.
Loved one... He had never referred to Crowley as that, not even to himself in the safe and quiet space of his very own thoughts. But it was the truth, wasn't it? He loved Crowley. Now that he thought of it, it was clear as the sky on the First Day in Paradise. Of course, he loved Crowley. What else could he call this. He loved spending time with the Serpent, he was always on his mind, and whenever he thought of him, his heart started –
His heart. Of course. His heart!
Aziraphale exhaled and closed his eyes, trying to blank out the chaos around him. He couldn't see or hear Crowley in this turmoil. But he could sense him. Angels and demons can change their form, they can be humanoid or a snake or even just a flash of light. They don't rely on their exterior to recognise one another. Instead, they recognise their souls, their beings; it's like a feeling that only this one particular person can emit.
Aziraphale reached out for Crowley's feeling. It was hard to detect him, as there were so many other beings around. And he couldn't keep his eyes closed for too long, or someone might kill him.
He tried to shove aside any of the other sensations, of all the angels he knew, Fallen or still in Heaven. They were all not the right ones. He needed something different...
There!
He opened his eyes. Crowley's feeling lay straight ahead of him, a good deal further off into the battlefield.
Aziraphale swallowed and grabbed his sword tighter. There was no time to lose. He had to be quick now.
Wielding his flaming sword in front of him protectively, he darted off in the direction of the feeling, jumping over corpses and slashing at whoever was trying to attack him. He had to get to Crowley. No matter what, he could not leave his friend behind.
~~~***~~~
Adam and the Them arrived at the air base. The atmosphere all over the place was burning. Flaming swords and blazing lances were clashing with each other, humanoid creatures with wings were trying to tear each other apart. Dead bodies lay on the ground between them, and Adam could see that they really were gone. They weren't just discorporated. Their souls had been permanently killed off.
“This has to stop,” Adam stated, frowning. “They can't just go round killing each other like that. It's not right.”
The other Them nodded in agreement.
“'Tis an awful mess,” agreed Brian. “They're ruining everything. It's not right to ruin our place like that. I mean, they got Up There and Down There for themselves, I don't see no sense in them making such a mess where we live.”
“I once made a mess in my mum's friend's living room,” Pepper admitted. “She said the same thing to me, that friend, I mean. Said that it wasn't my place and I couldn't just ruin it. Guess she was right, though I didn't get why I shouldn't back then when I did it.”
Again, the other Them nodded.
“How are you gonna make them stop, though?” asked Wensleydale.
“Oh, they will listen to me alright,” Adam said confidently and shook out his fingers. “Don't you worry about that, that's not a problem. I just have to make sure they won't start it again in a few years, you know. Cause that wouldn't solve it.”
That seemed logical. The Them nodded a third time.
Adam clenched his hands into fists at his sides and closed his bright eyes. He focused. He felt for the minds of the battling creatures, connected to all of them, angel or demon, until each and every one of them was on his mental watch.
Then he told them to stop fighting.
~~~***~~~
Crowley couldn't remember how long he had lain there on the rough, cold ground before Aziraphale found him. It was after everyone had lowered their weapons, that much he knew. He hadn't found the Antichrist, but, apparently, the Antichrist had found the Apocalypse. And – instead of deciding it – he had stopped it. Still, the sword that had cut Crowley's front open had hit him before that, and, as much as he would have loved to be happy about the Apocalypse stopping, he couldn't feel anything beyond his own pain.
He heard Aziraphale calling him, but only after the third time did he realise that it was his name. He opened his eyes and looked up, right in the troubled face of the angel who dropped his flaming sword to the ground and sank down somewhere half behind, half beside Crowley's head and shoulder.
“Oh, good God, you're wounded!” he whispered and Crowley groaned in agony as Aziraphale's hands felt over the cut. Immediately, the angel retreated his hand. “How bad is it... Are you alright...?”
“Yeah, I am fine,” Crowley mumbled between gritted teeth. “'Sssss nossssing. Jussss' a flesh wound.”
They both had seen Monty Python movies together. Aziraphale still didn't catch on the joke.
“You're hurt,” he whispered once more, and Crowley heard the tears welling up in his eyes by how throaty his voice was.
“I'm alright,” he assured again, though they both knew that wasn't true in the slightest. But Crowley couldn't stand Aziraphale crying. Especially not crying over him.
He clutched his own stomach with one hand and shakily reached out with the other to place it on Aziraphale's cheek that hovered somewhere above his own head.
“Really,” he muttered with a faint but honest smile. “I'm alright now that you're here.”
Aziraphale sobbed lowly and placed his hand on Crowley's, pressing it tightly against his warm face. Crowley's smile widened. Yes, Aziraphale's locks really were almost the same pale brown as his skin was. It was so good to see them again, to not be alone at this very moment.
“Hey, it'ssss okay,” he tried to soothe him. “It'ssss not even hurting, really.” That was a lie. They also both knew that.
Aziraphale softly stroked his hand with his thumb. Hot tears ran over Crowley's cool fingers.
“Thhhhank you for being here,” he mumbled, resisting the urge to close his tired eyes. He didn't want to miss one single second of looking into Aziraphale's face. “I'm sssso ssssorry I couldn't make thissss all sssstop earlier...”
“Ssssh. Ssssh. Don't talk right now... Don't talk...” Aziraphale said, still sobbing. He raised his head and looked around frenziedly, sniffing a little. Crowley mourned the loss of their eye contact, but he was feeling too tired to complain about it. His body was hurting. And – far worse – his being hurt, too.
Just when Crowley felt like saying something again, Aziraphale froze. He seemed to have found something. What had he been searching for?
“Wait for me,” he ordered lowly and softly placed Crowley's hand back on the ground. “I'll be right back. Please wait for me. Wait for me, I'll hurry.”
Crowley knew what his words really meant. They meant Please don't die while I'm gone. He nodded weakly. He certainly would try to.
Aziraphale made an attempt to get up, but then he stopped and instead bent down to kiss him. It was nothing more than a hasty pressing together of their lips, but for Crowley, it felt like forever and it spread through his body with such a heavenly warmth that, for one blissful moment, it toned out the pain of his dying.
Before Crowley had come back to his senses, Aziraphale had already vanished. Crowley decided it wasn't worth it to open his eyes again then. He kept them closed, staring at the darkness behind his heavy eyelids, and tried to not succumb to it fully.
~~~***~~~
When Aziraphale came back, for a very painful moment, he thought Crowley had already died. But then he saw his chest heaving ever so slightly with his breathing and the relief that washed over him with the awareness was so heavy that he had to sob from it loudly. He fell to his knees behind his lover and cradled his head in this arms and hands.
“Crowley,” he whispered. “Crowley, I'm back. Please wake up, Crowley. Please... Please wake up. I have returned.”
Crowley gave a very, very low grunting sound. But then he slowly opened his yellow eyes with the slitted pupils and looked up at Aziraphale, smiling weakly.
“Hey,” he greeted him. “Where have you been for sssso long...”
“It was only two minutes,” Aziraphale whispered. He softly stroked Crowley's cold cheeks. His vision blurred, but he pulled himself together.
“Really...? It felt longer than that...”
“Yes, I know... Look, I brought someone. He will try to make you feel better, alright? He will try to heal you. So please keep still and let him do his work on you, yes?”
Crowley only grumbled lowly. He tried to look down at the person Aziraphale had brought with him, but it seemed to trouble him too much. He groaned in pain instead and squeezed his eyes shut. Aziraphale stroked his cheeks again and ssssh'd at him softly.
“Will he survive this?” he asked the other angel who was eyeing Crowley's terrible wound.
Raphael nodded. “I will be able to patch him back up,” he answered. “He is heavily wounded, but it is not too late yet.”
Aziraphale nodded as well. He didn't dare to feel relieved yet. He knew Raphael was the Healer, but maybe this was too critical, even for him. He watched the archangel's experienced fingers pull away Crowley's arms and his clothes so he could inspect the injury better. Crowley yelled in pain as they touched his burned flesh. Raphael didn't let that keep him from fingering it.
Crowley gritted his teeth but tried to suppress his groaning. Aziraphale grabbed his right hand to squeeze it and give Crowley the opportunity to squeeze it back as a distraction. Then he kept watching Raphael's doings.
“Where is Gabriel?” he asked him lowly. He had found Raphael in an instant, but Gabriel had not been with him. “Is he alright?”
A sad smile crossed Raphael's smudgy face, soot and blood sticking to his skin and to his brown locks. He didn't answer.
Aziraphale raised his head and let his gaze wander over the wide field again, over the bodies of dozens of demons and angels, slain or just injured like Crowley was. Finally, he found Gabriel a bit further away, in the same direction Raphael had been standing in. He lay still on the ground and wasn't moving. Aziraphale swallowed and grabbed Crowley's hand tighter.
“I am sorry,” he mumbled, staring at Crowley's chest without seeing it. Maybe that had been why Raphael had followed him here without ever questioning why Aziraphale begged him to save the demon. It was not hard for an angel to sense true love, not even from another angel. If Raphael had just lost his loved one, maybe he didn't want Aziraphale to suffer like he did, even if it meant saving a demon for him.
Crowley had gone still beneath him. He was still breathing and moaning softly every now and then, but he had stopped screaming or tensing up in indescribable agony. Raphael really was a master at his profession.
As Aziraphale watched the wound close little by little, he suddenly couldn't hold back any longer. Hot tears started streaming down his face and he sagged over Crowley with a strangled sob, his hair framing the demon's head like a curtain.
Crowley mumbled something and buried his trembling fingers in Aziraphale's hair, but Aziraphale didn't understand what it was. He was too zoned out. Suddenly, all the sorrows and the panic he had felt ever since he had read the Prophecies in his bookshop fell off him and he began to cry and sob and shake like there was no tomorrow. Which maybe there wasn't. So maybe his crying was justified.
Crowley kept murmuring inaudible things to him while he softly caressed his hair, and Raphael kept on working in silence. When Aziraphale finally was able to stop shaking like an earthquake and managed to look up again, there was nothing left of the wound but a faint, golden scar. He wiped his eyes and sniffed pitifully, a bit embarrassed about his heavy outburst.
Raphael only smiled at him faintly. But the loss that was still written in his blue eyes made it look rather hurtful.
“Thank you...” Aziraphale whispered, but even though it was low, it was filled with more gratefulness than was humanly possible. “Thank you, Raphael... I wish there was something I could do for you, too...”
“You just did,” a foreign voice said from beside them. All three of them turned their head in surprise. In front of them stood an eleven-year-old boy with golden hair and shimmering eyes who was studying them intensely. It was without a doubt clear to them who this boy actually was.
“You just proved to me that it's possible what I wanted to see. That it don't matter what side you're on, you can still stick up for each other when it gets hardcore. You can be rivals all you want, see, but there's no good in any side winning. And when it goes too far, you have to stop and help each other instead. We wouldn't want ol' Greasy Johnson to die on us either, y'know.”
Aziraphale and Raphael exchanged confused glances. Then Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged some, too.
“I think,” Adam went on and looked around at the battlefield, at the wounded or already fallen people and at the retreating forces of Heaven and Hell, “I think I will make it go back to normal for now. And I hope it will teach y'all a lesson, so you won't do such a nonsense again. Does that seem alright to you?”
~~~***~~~
They watched together as the bodies of the fallen rose from the ground. Injuries healed, life came back to the dead ones, everything was turned back into what it once had been.
Raphael threw his arms around his lover and pressed him tightly against his chest, holding onto him, crying, and saying something neither Aziraphale nor Crowley could understand from where they were sitting. Gabriel was still a bit shaky, but he embraced his partner all the same and buried his face against his still armoured chest.
Aziraphale smiled softly and squeezed Crowley's hand. Adam would have revived Crowley, for certain. But it was somehow better that an angel had saved the demon from his death. That was what Adam had wanted to happen after all, hadn't he? The two sides understanding that ending each other would be no good for either of them. That they needed each other so they would make sense. Adam had restored the world, but he hadn't destroyed their memories. Each angel and each demon would forever remember this battle, would forever remember the losses and the pain and the absurdity of it all, and it would keep the earth safe for some other millennia to come. Until humanity destroyed itself or the planet exploded or whatever else could happen to this fragile world they fought over. But there would be no more Armageddon. And no one had to be dying for it any longer.
“So, that kiss you gave me,” Crowley finally spoke beside him. He had sat up by now but was leaning heavily against Aziraphale, his being still too weak from the injury. “What was that for exactly now?”
Aziraphale turned his head to him, blushing a little. “Well,” he stammered, squeezing Crowley's hand again to get less nervous, “I just... I just didn't want you to go without doing this at least once, you know...”
Crowley smirked slightly. “At least once?” he repeated, which made the angel blush a bit harder. “Aziraphale! I didn't know you were such a go-getter!”
Now Aziraphale pouted a little. Crowley couldn't help but laugh, even though it hurt his insides.
“At least I did something,” Aziraphale grumbled. “You wouldn't have made the first move even in another 6000 years, my dear!”
Crowley turned his head and studied him, all jest having left his features. “Aziraphale,” he said after some moments. “You big, blasted idiot. I thought angels can feel love around them.”
Aziraphale blinked at him. Crowley didn't blink back.
“You –.... All this time –... And I didn't –... ...Really?”
Crowley sighed and shook his head slightly. “You really are pretty dumb for someone that intelligent,” he stated. Then he leaned forward and pressed their lips together. Luckily for him, he did so before Aziraphale could comment on this.