Chapter Text
It had been a few days since Y/N saw Crowley’s greenhouse, and the image of her inside it wouldn’t leave the demon’s mind. He felt that he saw her everywhere. And granted, to an extent he had. She was still interacting with them daily, but she was also a busy woman. Neither of them wanted to force her to change her lifestyle for them. But even when they weren’t speaking, even when she was at her flat and Crowley was dreaming on Aziraphale’s couch while the angel made diligent notes of his newest prophecy book, he saw her.
Crowley wondered if Aziraphale thought about Y/N the same way he did. Was everything this all consuming? Aziraphale certainly was for Crowley. Not all the time, perhaps all consuming wasn’t the right term, for there were times when the demon could go about his life and not think too much about him. But there were others when all he wanted, all he yearned for, was the sweet angel who loved crepes so much he risked his own life for them. The thought made him laugh slightly.
“A penny for your thoughts, my darling?” Aziraphale said into the silence of the night. It really was a wonderful moment they were sharing. Crowley was daydreaming, lounging on the couch and letting his imagination fly into all the most obscure realities. And Aziraphale was studying a book he’d recently acquired, 113 Partially Correct Prophecies for the Year 1922 by Oscar Wilde. It was turning out to be a more satirical book, mocking the different ways in which people were readily able to believe in prophecies, but Aziraphale still found it an excellent read. And he had been alarmingly correct about Franz Ferdinand’s assassination.
“Y/N,” Crowley answered.
Aziraphale didn’t try to fight the smile on his lips as he turned in his seat to look at the demon. “Ah, I see. And what about her has got you laughing?”
“It’snot her, it’sabout her.” He slurred his words slightly. “Do you… do you find yourself always thinking about the people you care for?”
Aziraphale nodded, “yes, I do.”
“Really?”
“I find that it’s not always the way the novels might describe it. It’s not always fiery and passionate, but it’s certainly there. In the subtext of your mind, so to speak.”
Crowley rolled his eyes, “stop being so bloody smart, angel.”
Aziraphale frowned, “you asked me a question, dearest. I was just trying to answer it.”
“I know,” Crowley said, shoving himself up off the couch and going to Aziraphale selection of vinyl. He started to thumb through them, hoping to find something that had lyrics. Of course he appreciated classical music as much as the next immortal fellow, but when your brain just couldn’t stop thinking, sometimes words were what you needed to distract you. Other words to silence the ones up there. Crowley smiled at the Etta James vinyl, he’d quite fancied her music. Thought she had an excellent voice.
“Angel,” Crowley said softly, his expression suddenly serious. He let his fingers trace along the Etta James vinyl, nail scratching along the letters.
“Hmm?”
The demon was not always known for saying exactly what he needed to say, communication could be very difficult for a demon when your entire mode of communication is based on lies. Or Freddie Mercury. But maybe it was the way he kept replaying his angel kissing her, or the way Y/N listened and loved all of his plants with a kind heart, but he knew exactly what he wanted to say. As adorable as Aziraphale was, Crowley was going to get these words out. “We need to do something about Y/N.”
The angel looked confused and his pink lips came in a little pout, “whatever do you mean?”
“She’s not immortal. She’s going to continue to age. I, I, I don’t want to go through this again.”
Aziraphale’s face fell and he removed his spectacles from the tip of his nose. The conversation had turned very quickly, and he couldn’t quite trace Crowley’s train of thought. Bugger, he hadn’t focused on that bit of everything quite yet. He was so excited with getting to know Y/N, getting to love her as her outside of the whole soulmate situation. Though the situation is what brought them together. He sighed, “I don’t know if there is much we can do.”
“C’mon, angel, think. Use that pretty little head of yours and think.” Crowley came to him quickly, imploring for Aziraphale to help him find a way. The angel’s lips parted when he realized Crowley had called him pretty. However, the demon was on a mission. As beautiful as Aziraphale was and as much as he would love to continue telling him that, he knew they couldn’t get distracted. He could still hear her giggle as rose bushes popped up when she said their name. “Angel, think about it. Y/N’s not going to stop aging. She’s going to die. She’s going to die and forget about us, and we might never get to see her again. And even if we do, she’ll die and forget again. It will never end.”
“Well what do you suggest we do, Crowley?” Aziraphale said with a little whine, he felt helpless.
“Miracle?” The demon said halfheartedly, knowing that it might not work but choosing to say it anyway.
“Heaven and Hell will know if we try to miracle her immortality, and they won’t leave us alone.”
Crowley straightened. Despite everything, despite the inner feelings of self hatred and the torment Hell had put him through, Crowley was an optimist. He believed in good, and he believed that things would work out. An apocalypse had been stopped by belief, by imagination. His Bentley had survived. Despite it all, he chose to be optimistic about their future with Y/N, he refused to let it die with her. “We have to try, Aziraphale. You know we do. She deserves it.”
“She does.”
There was a pause. The angel was thinking very deeply about what they could do, if a miracle would even work. Then the soft chords of Etta James’s ‘At Last’ started to play on the record player. Aziraphale hadn’t even seen the demon put it on, but he couldn’t fight the small smile as the music enveloped him. His eyes fluttered shut and he took in a deep breath.
Her voice was rich through the ancient speaker. Crowley and Aziraphale listened with intent.
“At last
My love has come along…”
Aziraphale’s eyes opened when he felt a pair of warm hands settle on his waist, pulling him closely to another body. Crowley let his head fall onto the crook between Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder, letting out a shaky breath. He worried the angel was going to kick him away, and was going to reject him. 6,000 years of pining and yet he didn’t know if a simple dance was too much to ask for. At first the angel didn’t know how to respond, but as Etta James continued and he took in the scent of Crowley, he felt himself melting into the touch. Aziraphale’s arms came up around Crowley’s neck, hands buried in the red hair as the couple swayed back and forth to the song. His nails scratched along his skin and Crowley let out a sigh of relief. Aziraphale rested his head against Crowley’s.
“At last
The skies above are blue
My heart was wrapped in clover
The night I looked at you…”
Crowley remembered one of the first times he’d seen Aziraphale, way back when he’d been an angel. He hadn’t noticed it then, he’d been too caught up in the creation of a galaxy too beautiful to comprehend, but he remembered Aziraphale had looked quite pretty. He looked soft and sweet. Like candy. Crowley couldn’t comprehend that this moment was real, that he was holding good personified and he was his.
It took Crowley three stuttering tries, but he finally managed to get out over the soft chords of the song, “you deserve it, too, Aziraphale. You deserve her, the love, all of it. You deserve eternity with her.”
They both pulled back slightly to look at one another. The angel soaked in the sight of Crowley’s amber eyes, so raw with unexplained emotions. He hadn’t seemed to expect that from him and his eyes darted back and forth, trying to gauge what Crowley was feeling. He seemed to know something the demon wouldn’t dream to express. Aziraphale brought a hand to cup Crowley’s cheek and without thinking, he nuzzled into the angel’s touch. “My darling, you deserve it too. You are deserving of everything.”
A tear slipped down Crowley’s cheek, and Aziraphale wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. The angel spoke softly, almost hiding under the music, but Crowley would have never missed his next words. “I love you dearly, my Crowley.”
Crowley didn’t hesitate this time to make the next move. He rushed forwards and took Aziraphale’s lips with his own. A crescendo to 6,000 years of pining and trying to understand themselves. It was all that Aziraphale had dreamed of and more. The demon moved with a raw passion, taking in the form of the angel’s lips, but he wasn’t demanding. Crowley tasted of whiskey and heat and his lips felt softer than sin. Etta James’s melody cried from behind them and they held each other closer, as though letting go would mean they’d never get to touch again.
“You smiled, you smiled
Oh, and then the spell was cast
And here we are in Heaven
For you are mine … at last.”