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Aziraphale didn’t exactly have this whole “supreme archangel” thing figured out quite yet.
It wasn’t that he didn’t know the steps in theory. Have plenty of pointless meetings with a lot of people he didn’t like that didn’t like him - easy. Delegate all the unpleasant parts about bringing forth the Second Coming to them - easy. Sit alone in that empty office above everyone else, staring out at the vast nothingness that had nothing in common with his cosy little bookshop on a cosy little street in London - easy?
Oh, who was he kidding, he sucked at this.
That’s what Crowley would say. He’d tell him “you suck at this archangel business, angel” and then he’d smile and raise a wine glass and he’d say “let’s retire the bit, shall we?” and Aziraphale would huff and puff but he’d know he was right and then he’d simply walk home with Crowley. Maybe have one of his hellish lifts far above the speed limit.
But Crowley wasn’t here to take him home.
In fact, no one was here.
“It’s not that I miss him,” he told no one in particular.
Heaven had the unfortunate side effect of making one feel very watched. God’s presence had always felt a bit more tangible up here. Not that She had ever spoken to him since he’d arrived in his new office. Or ever, for that matter.
It’s not that he hadn’t tried.
“Are we sure about this whole Second Coming business? Earth has been doing pretty fine without Christ judging everyone so far, has it not?”
“Generally, I don’t think there’s any need to cut its existence short with the Last Judgement. Still has a few years in it, don’t you think?”
“I mean, ending it prematurely really didn’t turn out all that well the first time, right?”
“It’s not that I miss him. But he didn’t want to come, did he? He refused everything I stand for, everything I am, even when I begged him, when I gave him every opportunity to accept, when I told him I needed him. It’s really out of my hands, isn’t it? Really not my fault. Just have to respect his decision, is all.”
God never responded.
Maybe it was for the best.
Okay, it was not for the best. Aziraphale was still quite fond of Earth. And well - those who might inhabit it. Even though they were technically not bound to it. Or him. As they had proven. More than thoroughly proven.
No, he didn’t miss Crowley at all.
1.
The first time he went back down to Earth to - well, to examine the state of his book store, really, nothing else - he took on the appearance of a nice old lady. There was no need to, really, he was still, technically, the owner of his store, but there really wasn’t any point in seeing how Muriel was running it while she knew he was observing her, now, was there?
Into the ground, was the simple answer. She was being utterly unacceptable.
“Yes, I mean it,” she told him for the fourth time now. “You really can buy this book. It’s a book shop, that’s what we do here!”
“No, no, no, no!” he called out, perhaps a little more ill-tempered than he should’ve. “This is a very rare first edition, you can’t just sell it!”
“But that’s the point of a store!” Muriel said, clearly unsure now and he hated to see her struggle but he also hated watching her give away his precious books.
Aziraphale leaned into her space, taking on a conspiratory tone of voice.
“You know,” he told her. “I can tell you’re not from here.”
“That’s right!” she called out, beaming, only for the smile to immediately fall off her face again. “I- I mean….”
“Scottish, maybe?”
“Oh. Oh. Yes. That’s right. Yes! I am from the land of the Scots!”
“You might not understand English customs yet. Here in London, bookstores really only exist to look at the books. From the outside. While the store is closed. Once in a while people will call. They’ll ask about a book for sale. You’ll say you don’t have it in, even if you do. And then. You will tell them politely where else they may look for it. And hang up.”
“But… how will I make money?” she asked and Aziraphale took a deep, inhaling breath, trying to calm himself.
“Money? Money?!”
“Oh, uh…” Muriel stared at him, eyes wide. “No, of course… of course I didn’t mean money . Money isn’t- that’s not a thing. Who cares about money!”
“Now you get the spirit, dear.”
Aziraphale had to leave the store soon after, but he sat down in Nina’s lovely café for a while, watching his store and not once had he seen Muriel come out and turn the sign to “closed”. Oh, she hadn’t gotten the spirit at all !
He really had no choice in the matter. None whatsoever. He would have to find Crowley.
“Hello dear,” greeted the old woman.
He could see those yellow eyes behind the tinted glasses narrow.
“Who’re you?”
Aziraphale tried not to focus on how good it was to hear his voice again - the familiar little grumble of words squeezed out of his vocal chords like ancient, misconstrued poetry. The others had never heard it, as far as Aziraphale knew, but that was hardly surprising - As far as he knew, they preferred celestial harmonies over Bach, too.
“I’m- I’m Miryam, dearie. I was wondering about that lovely bookshop in Soho. You see, I heard you were the co-owner from-”
“Not interested.”
Now a slammed door was really rather rude but nothing that would stop Aziraphale in the long run. Still. He wasn’t exactly used to Crowley slamming a door shut in his face. He couldn’t claim he enjoyed the feeling.
He knocked again.
Crowley’s voice was lower now, the word “what” coming out with a mildly threatening rumble Aziraphale had to admit he had always quite enjoyed when directed at - well, whoever was stupid enough to endanger either one of them. Crowley had tended to make short work of them.
Not anymore…
“It’s just, I’ve been there, recently,” he told Crowley, unperturbed, his voice not quite as impressive with the tonations of that lovely human lady he was copying. “And I’ve been sold this book.”
He held it out to Crowley, who was looking down at it with a shamefully disgusted expression. Really, he ought to have some respect for a lovely book such as this - hadn’t his time helping out in the store taught him anything?
“And?” he finally asked, clearly annoyed. Another nuance in his voice Aziraphale knew all too well.
“It’s just that I don’t think that the shop can sustain itself if it just gives away all its books like that willy-nilly to whoever will pay for them!”
The door slammed shut in his face again, and this time Aziraphale heard locks click behind it.
“Now that is really awfully rude!” he called through the door.
“I can show you just how rude I am!” Crowley shouted back, and this tone of voice Aziraphale had never actually heard directed at him even once, this wasn’t his usual temper, this was downright threat of harm. He hesitated for a moment, but when he saw black smoke from the cracks of Crowley’s door, he decided this might be a good time to leave.
“Uhm, well, there really is no need to be so rude- I was merely-”
A cloud was coming directly for his leg now, trying to snake its way upwards and he swiftly stepped out of its way, dusting down his trousers only to realise he was wearing a skirt. Right.
“Well it was- it was nice to meet you, dear chap,” he told the door ever so quietly, his hands shaking a little as he prepared to ascend back to heaven.
This didn’t go as planned at all .
2.
Aziraphale was too busy to think much about it in the upcoming weeks. When he finally did have a free minute to check up on his old store - just the store, nothing else, of course - again, he did so with the appearance of a rather sweet Indian man with an impeccable sense for fashion.
He was met with a door sign assuring him that the shop was “very closed”. Nodding contentedly, he peered through the glass doors of his store, only to be met with a familiar pair of yellow, reptilian eyes. There was Crowley, sitting on a chair, using a pile of books to rest his legs on, staring outside straight at him.
And Aziraphale - well, this poor man he’d copied had to have a very bad heart, because all of a sudden it seemed to be stuttering and racing and he simply turned around and left as fast as he could, trying not to feel that gaze follow him through the winded streets of London.
Well, his bookshop was in good hands, then. Finally. Finally, he could do his job with an easy conscience. No need to return to Earth anymore, now that he knew Crowley had taken charge of things.
Oh, the old fool. Always pretended to be above caring, but in the end… in the end…
Well, alright. Not always. Not all the time.
What did it matter?
Aziraphale fled back to Heaven.
There were no material possessions in Heaven. They simply couldn’t exist, unless someone made them, brought them in to keep them.
Aziraphale did miss his books terribly, so he assumed God wouldn’t mind. What was a little book, in the great scheme of things? It at least helped the terrible loneliness and boredom that had settled in once he discovered that people really rarely had a reason to enter the upper floors of Heaven. At least he had something to read. And who knew - maybe, once he finished the book, he could return to Earth and pick up a new one. No harm in that, right? None at all.
3.
There was no day and night cycle in Heaven. Aziraphale, who had gotten rather used to cosy nights curled up in a bed with a good book and some hot milk or tea, wasn’t sure what to make of it. All his room had was this cold, empty desk and large, cold windows showing a vast cold emptiness. It was all rather… uncomfortable.
He tried to think back to when he’d started off in Heaven and how he’d spent his time back then, but that didn’t compare because back then, he’d mostly kept busy, been travelling a lot, expanding his horizons, spreading goodness in the universe, observing and steering humanity.
Now. Well. He was a bit of a pencil pusher.
And books, historically, were connected with one’s memory. He considered it, reading up here, but whenever he tried to, memories flooded in of his bookshop, of lovely records, of a sweet tea and delicious cake from across the street and oh, did he really want to replace all of them with… with this?
So he went to visit Earth instead.
Sat on a randomly chosen café chair that just happened to face his storefront, in the appearance of a lovely student called Jennifer, and read his book. Though, surprisingly, despite having missed it so much, Aziraphale would later on realise that he hadn’t gotten much reading done at all.
But that was hardly his fault, it was ever so distracting, the weird things Crowley was fabricating behind the closed door of his bookstore. Standing there, carrying around piles of books, running around Muriel, with Muriel talking something at him that he waved off, books flying out of his arms at the movement.
Now that really-
So careless. With his belongings, too. Trust a demon to not take care of what you had entrusted to him.
With newfound determination, Aziraphale shut his own book and got up from the table, crossing the street towards his store. They hadn’t noticed him - well, fine. He knocked on the door. Knocked again just as a new pile of books got tossed into a corner. Unbelievable!
He knocked a little harder and this time both Muriel and Crowley looked up. Crowley frowned, then opened the door with a little hiss.
“What?” he asked and Aziraphale suddenly felt cold, like the sun had disappeared off the sky from one second to the other, leaving him shivering in front of Crowley.
“I- that’s really not how you should handle books, you know,” he told Crowley sternly. “They’re very delicate and should be treated with the utmost care and diligence.”
“I handle those books however I want, this is my store,” Crowley told him which - the audacity!
Technically - technically - Aziraphale supposed he had left his store in his hands while he left for Scotland and maybe had something along the lines of it being “their” store, and yes, technically, he had left Earth and was now living in Heaven with a new job, but for Crowley to just- just claim his store as his own. To-
“Here.”
Aziraphale didn’t even have time to react. Suddenly, a book was hurled at his face, corners first, poking him in the eye and he caught it with frantic hands, not wanting it to fall to the ground.
“Handle that, if you like books so much.”
The door slammed shut in his face again - really, did he have to do that every time? What a terribly dramatic scene - and Crowley turned to close the blinds, shutting him out of his own store. Truly, what insolence.
He looked down at the book in his hands.
An Equal Music by Vikram Seth.
Oh, for Heaven’s-
Aziraphale took a deep breath. Tucked the book to the other one already in his possession, and went back to Heaven.
He really shouldn’t care. What did his bookstore matter now? What did this silly book about doomed love because one fool had a breakdown and left the other fool? What did Crowley matter, really? Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. The Second Coming mattered. God’s ineffable plan mattered. Yes.
That’s all that mattered.
“You know,” he told God that night when he couldn’t stand reading that wretched book anymore. “If your plans were a little bit more ineffable, maybe he would understand.”
He waited for an answer, but none came. It wasn’t true anyway, probably. Because how could Crowley understand God’s plan when even the Supreme Archangel couldn’t?
4.
The next time Aziraphale went down to Earth, he did so in form of a little girl called Claudine.
Crowley wouldn’t be able to slam the door on a child, he was sure, especially not one this cute. No, he’d have to let him in and then Aziraphale would present to him all the ways he could keep the store running and healthy until- until the Day of Judgement and then he would finally know peace up in Heaven. Yes, it was brilliant. A brilliant plan.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, go away,”
“Please sir, may I just have a single look around?” Aziraphale was putting all his acting skills into this one, admittedly, and he didn’t feel good about it. Lying was already something he was rather uncomfortable with - even more so when it was directed at Crowley. It was for the greater good though. Every angel lied from time to time. And as long as it was to a demon - well, no harm done, surely.
Crowley stared at him for an uncomfortable long time. Aziraphale could see his eyes behind the blackened glasses, hadn’t looked at them for this amount of time in a while and it was- it wasn’t exactly unpleasant. Wouldn’t have been, if he couldn’t still remember the last time he’d looked at him for that long, had told him- had told him all these things while rejecting his offer, while rejecting their side, had-
He shook his head softly. No use thinking about it. He’d forgiven him. That meant he had to let it go. No more thinking about that damned kiss, thank you very much.
Finally, it was Muriel who saved him.
“Oh, what a sweet little thing, of course you can come in!” she told him from behind Crowley and rushed to the door to tear it further open, allowing him to rush by Crowley’s long legs. It did have rather lovely advantages to be this small. He should try it a lot more often.
Crowley growled something under his breath but closed the door behind him, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he stared at Aziraphale through narrowed eyes.
Ever the spoilsport, his oldest friend.
“You know, if you lightened up a little, maybe people would regard you with the same positive energy and attitude!” he told him.
“Oh, isn’t she a smart kid?” Muriel beamed.
Crowley just stared at him angrily - as always.
Now that Aziraphale thought about it, he quite missed the old, familiar fondness in his gaze. He hadn’t seen it since-
No. No use thinking about it. Certainly no use missing it.
“She’s a pain in my ass,” Crowley said. “And needs to go home to her parents now.”
“Oh, don’t be like that.” She nudged Crowley almost playfully in a way Aziraphale had rarely seen anyone do. Usually, people kept respectful distance from the demon. Usually. Something stirred inside him he couldn’t quite identify. Something that seemed to make his blood boil and his skin crawl with an odd, overwhelming ache hidden beneath.
“He should be however he likes,” he hissed at Muriel and then immediately felt back when he noticed the look on her face, covering his mouth with a tiny hand. “Oh, I’m so sorry. My- my parents say I can be quite ill-tempered sometimes.”
Crowley rolled his eyes.
“Here, this is what you came for, isn’t it?” he asked, and let a pile of books fall into Aziraphale’s arms, so heavy that he sank to his knees. “There. Take them. Take as many as you like. Take them all, as far as I’m concerned. I don’t want them. I never asked for them. I am here anyway because of course I am, because I am an idiot who does everything for someone who just abandoned me on this backwater planet. Take them. And Just leave.”
Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say. The pain in Crowley’s voice seemed to match the one in his shoulders from the heavy weight. He opened his mouth, needing to say something, anything, but found himself struggling for words.
“Oh, don’t be silly, she can’t carry all of that!” Muriel said and lifted the majority of the books, allowing Aziraphale to get up, still clutching the last book that was left in his arms.
“I will come back,” he told Crowley, unsure why.
“Don’t bother,” said Crowley and that one stung, that one seemed to physically pierce through his heart and he wasn’t sure why until he was, because that had been the last thing he’d said, before- before-
No, this time he would say something. Anything.
“But I-”
But Crowley had already left, the door swinging behind him on his way out.
And Aziraphale. Aziraphale looked down at the book left in his arms.
The Bible.
Fantastic.
Aziraphale went back to Heaven, feeling a little bit desperate.
At the beginning of it all, there was nothing. And into that nothing, Earth was created, then animals, then people. Eve, well, she’d really wanted that apple. Had Aziraphale understood why that meant she had needed to be cast out? Not really. He hadn’t really understood why Crowley had to have been cast out.
Asking questions was frowned upon, sure. But that Nebula had been rather gorgeous. He’d done good work. He’d done good.
He’d-
So he’d asked questions. On Earth, Aziraphale understood, that was commonly regarded as a good thing. A broadening of the horizon, so to speak.
He browsed through the Bible aimlessly, looking for some sort of sign. He was bored. He was tired, but not in a sleepy sense, more in a sense that was deep in his bones, made the world around him dull and grey. Tired of being alone. Tired of missing… something.
Oh, who was he kidding.
Some one .
Crowley, to be precise.
“Aziraphale!” Gabriel greeted him with that thundering voice of his. “What a lovely surprise! What brings you here to Alpha Centauri?”
“It’s- it’s a lovely place you have here,” Aziraphale said, not meaning it but knowing that sometimes, you had to lie a little to be kind. Even if it meant that flies could use the given opportunity of your mouth opening to fly inside.
He suppressed a shiver.
“Thank you, we try,” said Beezlebub.
“What brings you here, mate?”
“I– uh. Well, in your absence, it seems that I have been offered your position and-”
“Ohhh, buddy. Oh mate. Oh no. No, you don’t want this. You should say no, if you came here for my advice.”
“Well, you see, I-”
“Honestly,” said Gabriel, leaning forwards with a concerned frown. “It’s not for you. You’re much too…-” He waved his arms up and down Aziraphale’s body. “Soft. You couldn’t harm a fly, let alone Earth.”
“Otherwise we wouldn’t have let you in the door,” Beezlebub supplied unhelpfully.
“Well, as things are-” Aziraphale tried, only to be interrupted yet again.
“Plus, your place is down there with Crowley. I’ve seen you two together. You know, I get it now. For a while, when I was still Archangel, well, it was shocking to see you fraternising with the enemy. But that’s just the thing, isn’t it?”
“Uh. What is?” Aziraphale asked, surprised he accidentally got a word in.
“Well, he’s not an enemy, is he?”
“Isn’t he?” Aziraphale asked.
“Don’t be silly,” said Beezlebub. “How could you be appointed Archangel if you don’t even know the most fundamental truth about Heaven and Hell?”
“That’s actually required for the job description,” Gabriel told them gently. “Certainly helps getting the work done. Well, you see… the point is-”
“The point is,” Aziraphale shot to his feet, not able to sit inside this fly-infested hut in the middle of nowhere for a moment longer. “The point is, that I was told I could appoint Crowley an angel again. Absolve him of all his sins. So I took the job. And he refused me! He! Refused me! So why do you- why do you get- get this and I sit alone up in heaven? How is this fair?!”
They exchanged a look, demon and angel, lovers on the outskirts of the universe.
Finally, Gabriel sighed.
“Because we accepted each other the way we were, Aziraphale. Because all I had to give up was a job that was making me miserable, that I was doing for people who didn’t give me the happiness Beezlebub could give me. And so that made it incredibly easy for me to give it up.”
“Well, he wouldn’t have had to give up anything! I was giving him something! That was the plan, the idea, to just- to-”
“Demons fell for a reason,” Beezlebub told him with surprising gentleness. “God might be a little trigger-happy when it comes to questioning Her, but Crowley has always carved a path on his own. Has always made it his identity to do what he wants. Do you really see him back in the service of Heaven, servicing a distant God who condemned him once already? To serve ideals he doesn’t believe in? Do you think that will just go away?”
“And if it did, would he still be your Crowley?” Gabriel asked in turn, his hand finding Beezlebub’s as if on instinct.
Aziraphale’s mouth fell shut.
“No,” he finally said quietly. “No, I suppose he wouldn’t be.”
“You created them with a mind intelligent enough to ask questions,” he told God that day. “You gave them the courage to do so. The curiosity to want to. The mouths to speak them. And then you damned them for it.”
He paused for a moment, realising on what path he was walking and then he steeled himself and kept going. Asked all the questions Crowley must’ve asked, surely, some day.
“I just want to understand why. Why won’t you ever explain to anyone why? You just sit there, wherever you are, and play games with our lives and our souls and our loyalties. A Second Coming? What for? Hell? Heaven? What for? What did you divide us into fractions for, so that we would be ever separated, ever fighting?”
“Balance.”
Aziraphale blinked. When he turned around, the light in the room was so blinding, he couldn’t see, had to cover his eyes and stare down at his feet.
“Balance?” he asked this voice that seemed to be as familiar as his own but eternally strange.
“You think I condemn my children to punishment in Hell, but I do not. I send those that don’t wish to serve me to serve the armies of evil, not to punish them, but to create the balance that keeps this universe alive. For as long as the battles are fought, I can make sure that balance is being restored. For as long good exists, so must evil, otherwise neither would and either would cease.”
“Uh,” said Aziraphale. “But- Crowley-”
“Crowley forged his own path. He found balance within himself.”
“Balance within- please, what does that even mean?” God wasn’t known to give answers, certainly, but to leave his head spinning like this?
“It means he serves neither good nor evil, he does not see the universe in black and white but in all its shades. He is one of my son’s that I am proudest of. You’d do well to tell him, but I doubt he would care for it.”
“Yes, that, quite- probably not, no. But- I still don’t understand-”
“You, my son, won’t find your balance in Heaven nor in Hell. Therefore I will not condemn you to fall.”
“Well, that’s awfully kind of you, however-”
“However, I will condemn you to, let’s say, vaguely saunter downwards.”
“What.”
He could’ve sworn he heard something akin to a smirk in that divine voice, certainly something that seemed like amusement. But that couldn’t be-
“Not to Hell. Merely… home.”
“Home? But I-?”
The light got stronger, seemed all-encompassing and Aziraphale raised an arm to bury his face in it, tried to hide away from it but it was too strong. Everything went white, then black and then…
5.
And then it took on cosy brown colours, warm sunlight streaming through windows instead of cool white light, there was a record playing somewhere in the distance and his books greeted him like old friends.
And on a chair, looking up with a shocked expression, sat his actual old friend, staring at him.
“Uh,” said Aziraphale. “Hello.”
“What- what do you want? Another book? DId you forget your shitty disguise this time?”
“Uh no, you see, it seems I uhm- I… Fell?”
Crowley blinked.
“You fell?”
“God sent me down here. Personally, might I add.”
Crowley shot to his feet, moved towards him, then stopped himself short, tentatively peeking around his back.
“Let me see your wings,” he asked him and with a little nod, Aziraphale focused and….
“Nope. Still white.”
“Well, She didn’t send me to Hell,” he told him. “She explicitly told me She wouldn’t. Just uhh… here.”
"Here.”
“Yes.”
“You fell… To London?”
“It would certainly seem that way.”
They stared at each other quietly for a moment.
“But your… job,” Crowley finally asked hesitantly.
“Oh, I sucked at it anyways,” Aziraphale waved him off. “Someone else will do it. Maybe Michael. Or Muriel. Actually, I’d like that, I should recommend her. Where is she, by the way?” he asked, trying his hardest to keep his tone light. Innocent. To hide the underlying anger and hurt that snuck up on him whenever he thought about Muriel in this store, alone with Crowley.
Crowley narrowed his eyes at him.
“You know, you’re just as shit at lying as you are at disguising yourself. I always know what’s up.”
Aziraphale, unsure why, stepped closer to the demon, bracing himself as he looked into those familiar eyes and finally, for the first time, letting himself admit how much he had missed them. How much he had missed genuine feelings reflected in a pair of eyes meeting his rather than the empty expressions he had encountered in Heaven.
“And what is up, do tell, Crowley?” he asked, his tone more challenging than he had wanted it to be but now that it was out, it was strangely fitting.
“You are committing one of the seven deadly sins,” Crowley grinned and maybe it was bad, that Aziraphale could immediately think of several that would meet the description. But maybe he didn’t care anymore.
“And which one is that?” he asked, which was apparently exactly what Crowley wanted because his grin grew as he regarded him with glowing eyes.
“Envy.”
Aziraphale didn’t give himself any time to be stunned, to be speechless, to be hesitant - he had done so for far too long, had almost ruined far too much with it, too.
“I think the correct term for it would be jealousy, technically,” he told Crowley instead. “But I don’t think it matters much. I have been officially freed from my duties. I get to sin. I get to carve my own path. ”
“You could’ve done that before,” Crowley told him, tone cautiously reigned in now and Aziraphale nodded and when had they gotten this close, who had taken the step that made him feel Crowley’s breath on his skin, hot and inviting?
“I could have,” he told him. “I know that. But I’m a fool. I wanted you to be something you’re not, I wanted you to see my side of things, just once, and it was foolish. I-” He took a deep breath, his gaze soft on his best friend. “Please, forgive me?”
Aziraphale had only been kissed once in his life. When Crowley had done it, it had been rushed and confusing and he’d only understood what happened when it was already halfway done. It had felt like a rejection rather than an invitation. It had felt like blackmail rather than an offer.
Now, when Crowley’s whole face lit up at his word, when understanding and relief flooded through him, when he took the last step necessary to bridge the distance between them, Aziraphale knew it was coming. Now it felt like nothing but… them.
And now he had no trouble kissing Crowley back, kissing anyone for the first time, really, feeling those lips against his and craving more the way only a demon could tempt him to. He pressed against Crowley, desperate to feel him close, desperate to feel him, really, after all those endless, lonely days trapped in Heaven.
It was against a demon’s nature to love, maybe, but Crowley had always carved his own path.
It was certainly not against an angel’s nature to love, he did it every day, but Crowley, well, he was special. So he loved him a little bit more.
When a demon and an angel both went against their natures just a little bit like this, well. One could probably call that a perfect balance.
Not that Aziraphale particularly cared. He was just glad to be home again, and that home included Crowley’s arms around him in a soft bed as the days finally concluded in nights again, a sweet tea for each of them on their nightstands.
“Here we finally are - just being us,” he muttered into the crook of Crowley’s neck.
It wasn’t anywhere near ‘I love you’, but he liked to believe Crowley understood it regardless.
1
“Pardon me,” Aziraphale greeted the angels of heaven with a little wink as he rushed his way through the elevator and up, Crowley right behind him. “I won’t be long, just have to clear out my desk.”
“I’m- I’m helping him carry,” Crowley told the angels staring at him. “I really don’t get it either, alright?”
“Was this trip really necessary, Angel?”
“I am not letting my poor books up here, that much I can guarantee you! Really necessary - really,” he muttered under his breath.
He crashed into his old office, ready to take his poor children home immediately, only to find Michael sitting on his old chair, crying hot, wet tears onto the pages of An Unquiet Music.
“It’s just so sad,” she told Aziraphale. “They never even stood a chance. Even though they love each other so much!”
“I- yes, yes, that is all very- however, water is very bad for paper and ink, so if you could just…-”
He tried to drag the book out from under Michael’s hands, but Crowley’s hand held him back, one on the book, keeping it in place, the other on his hand.
“Angel, I think maybe they should keep it, don’t you think?”
Aziraphale blinked at him.
“What? But-”
Crowley gave him that intent look of his and said, “A book that touches someone this much- someone like Michael, Aziraphale. Don’t you think that’s something they’ll treasure?”
“Oh that’s- well. I- I see what you mean but-”
Michael was looking up at him, brown eyes still swimming with tears, wide open in childlike hope and…. Alright, it was awfully hard to say no to that face, he supposed.
“Just try not to cry directly onto it, you will leave tear-stains. And tell the other angels to be careful with it. Books are very delicate. They need to be protected, you see?”
“Changing heaven, one page at a time,” Crowley grinned.
“Yes, well, I am not exactly happy with leaving it here.”
“I’ll get you a new one. First edition and all. Signed even.”
Aziraphale’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, you will? Really?”
“Of course, angel,” Crowley said, planting a soft kiss on his temple. Anything for you. Anything. Now let’s please go home?”
Aziraphale reached for his other books, hesitated as his hand hovered over the Bible and then left it, as a gift, for whoever needed to be reminded that sometimes, maybe, it was alright to ask questions.
His other hand reached for Crowley’s hand, squeezing it in quiet gratitude on their way home.
All the way down to familiar grounds.