Chapter Text
Back in his childhood home town, Aziraphale was walking around almost completely helplessly, feeling his shoes dragging his feet down, a stillness in the air which took away his breath, unable to get himself to go Crowley's house in the morning, not wanting to sit still in his own.
As he stared at the starlight backdropped church he took a moment before walking up the large stone steps to walk around the grounds alone in the lacklustre moonlight and grey clouds, he knew more and more that there was an inevitability in the demise of those who believed in god like he once did.
Whether he believed or not, the ending would be the same, one day he would die and either he will cease to exist in any meaningful way and be forgotten or he will continue to exist in some sort of not quite human anymore state with god in heaven or abandoned in hell, and Aziraphale knew exactly where he was going.
He didn’t know which ending he would prefer as he moved across the ghostly, haunted ground, sensing something looming all around him, readying itself to erupt from under the earth as he walked by the long forgotten gravesites and headstones of once greatly loved people, all the way until he stood in front of his mother’s.
He stared down at the engraved stone, reading the words over and over again as if it would somehow make her more alive than she ever was before, his lips silently moving, wondering where she ended up; debating with himself whether or not god would be proud of her hate just like he spread devastating wildfires, would he reward the pain she caused like how he gave Mary the gift of unavoidable suffering, or would he despise how she twisted his words like how he created the product of sin, how he planted that seed.
Aziraphale was aware that he would never get a real answer now, he was allowed to come no closer to a clear answer for the ineffable plan of the universe, god would never speak now he'd gone too far out of range.
There were years lost to the past where he spent endless hours telling himself that there was nothing wrong, years he spent not talking to his mother, years that Alexis had worked tirelessly to wade through with him behind as dead weight, doing everything she could to bring him out the other end still breathing, talking him through years of ignoring the damage that had been done, giving himself temporary fixes for permanent problems, but now all his family was gone and he was left with the aftermath of it all.
All he wanted was for her to say another word to him, to not have that hate and anger fuelled fight to be the last worldly connection between them.
No matter what Aziraphale wanted, he knew it was too late, his want now impossible, he knew that the dead would never speak back to him, no matter how much he demanded in his half forgotten prayers, he could say whatever he wanted and he'd never get a response.
Aziraphale sighed, sitting down cross legged on the beginning to be overgrown, dewy grass beside her grave, imagining himself scratching at the grass over her solid, wooden coffin, picturing himself in vivid detail digging through the packed in dirt until his hands and nails became caked in holy ground and tears, pulling out her partially decomposed body of loose, peeling skin and bacteria eaten insides, with a consuming sulphur smell just to give her a second chance.
His eyes widened as he continued this train of thought, surprised that he even wanted to give her that second chance, but he wanted to know exactly what it was that made his parents hate him so much, what it was that was so inherently wrong with him that made him so unbelievably unlovable.
As the night continued and he breathed in fresh air, Aziraphale looked down at his hands, how they remained clean of the soil beneath him and he thought back to the priest briefly, how in such a short period of time the man had bulldozed down and every part of him and rebuilt it ever so painfully, but now by himself, he felt better for it although no more prepared to see Crowley now that they were in the same town again.
Aziraphale sighed, defeated as he looked ahead, feeling the early morning dampness soaking into his clothes, the smell of the tree bark and earth rising all around him, feeling surer than ever that he was buried alive, unsure whether he would be able to claw his way out, exhausted.
He didn’t want to die, not yet anyway, he wanted to still have the chance for forgiveness and second chances, the capability to show that he was more than his parents ever believed him to be.
With a mind stuck on a loop of his regrets and the idea of second chances, how unlovable he was beginning to believe he had become came to the front of his mind as he thought of Crowley, and thinking of the both of them, how their lives so desperately intertwined, he was truly starting to think he was unlovable.
Despite this hurtful belief clawing at his insides, Aziraphale no longer felt like he was drowning, there was no longer a massive weight on his chest, suffocating him, but he found himself to almost be floating barely on the surface of everything that was trying its best to kill him, his muscles cramping with the effort to keep himself afloat, seeing nothing but ocean for miles nourishing that fear deep down inside him.
There was no way back from where he was stuck now, Aziraphale knew that, he could only move forward, but he found that path to be shrouded in darkness and mist, not wanting to be open to exploration, but the past was crawling with death and he wasn’t ready to turn around and join them.
Aziraphale blinked awake, not even sure when he fell asleep, still sitting up at his mother’s grave, feeling the rays of the sun coming through the tops of the trees and onto his back, and stretching into the warmth, he yawned before standing up on legs that had pins and needles, there was the obvious that was all he was left with, there was nothing left to gain from trying to commune with the dead.
As he walked back to his house, Aziraphale focused on the sensations all around him to distract himself from his own mind, listening to his own footsteps against the stony gravel, the early birds chirping in the treetops, distant car engines revving, and while it worked for a good while, everything continued bringing him back to the centre of his grief in the end, knowing no one else cared and he cared far too much, but he was soon standing outside his house, the past positively alive.
Aziraphale wasn’t sure exactly when his grief had become such an integral part of his life, intruding in on every single aspect of himself, so much so that he could not separate himself from it, unsure when everything around him became covered in that sticky substance of sadness and regret that he knew nobody could wash away.
Grief just couldn’t confine itself to his mind where it could be managed and ignored so that he could continue with his life, it had to show itself in physical ways he couldn’t take his eyes away from; the way he knew his parent’s mattress was worn down unevenly where even after decades alone, his mother could not sleep on the other side of the bed, he knew in his wardrobe back home was a neatly folded hoodie that once belonged to Crowley, something he couldn't ever bring himself to wash and return, and the bruise coloured bags under Crowley's eyes when he last saw him, a reminder that even strangers after decades of silence, Aziraphale was still on Crowley's mind.
Aziraphale had to move forward no matter how much everything tried to drag him backwards and it was a terrifying thought to commit to, to leave everything behind, and even more terrifying to actually do it, but he didn’t want to be lost to time in this small town, left behind like Crowley now had been, and he now wanted Crowley to leave with him, believing they still had time to create something together, cowering at the realisation he had to be the one to save them both.
It started slowly as he doubted every movement he made through the house, doing everything he could to not become overwhelmed by the memories that tried their damndest to resurface and be relived, and he worked through it, gathering bags and old cardboard boxes, widely opening the curtains, trying to relax his tense muscles in the sun’s warmth.
Stretching his arms until he felt something crack, Aziraphale walked over and stared at the bookcase of bibles and religious texts, taking the largest, dustiest, ones off first, taking his time to stare at the plain covers and to read the titles, carefully putting one after another into the boxes, knowing in no way was he going to miss staring at them every day, and he hoped in a not too far distant future, he was never going to have to step foot into his house again.
A gentle rhythm took over his body as he started on one half of the living room/bedroom space, making his way to the other end slowly, watching as it became emptier of anything and everything that brought it to life, what his parents carefully crafted to show everyone else a childhood he never experienced, trying to focus on the present, preparing for the future, finding he wasn’t ready at the moment to repair any more of his past.
Aziraphale had known it for a long time that this house he grew up in was no longer his home, it hadn't been for longer than he could remember, it never really was, it was a house that he occupied and would be glad to see himself rid of, wanting to be able to forget the pattern of the peeling wallpaper his parents never cared to fix or the cracks in the foundation.
Sooner than Aziraphale thought it would be over, he was finished, the boxes taped closed and stacked near the door, ready for whoever found them next, the rubbish was cleaned up, and his blankets were folded and placed aside, there would be no room for them in his bookstore.
Aziraphale knew what he had to do next, what the task was that was waiting to be ticked off the list, and he never liked to think that he had much in common with his parents at all anymore, but he knew he carried their blood through his veins in the way he hesitated to leave the house and cross the road, disliking himself a little bit more every time he took a step back or talked himself out of it, not trusting himself to say the right things, worried that he'd just lie his way through it again, and he wasn’t sure that Crowley would open the door a third time if he messed up again.
Taking a few deep, calming breaths, Aziraphale shakily closed the front door behind himself, stepping out into the path and stopped as he looked up at Crowley's house, seeing the shadowed figure staring back at him from the window again, and as he slowly crossed the road, he knew there was some small part of himself that wished he had never met Crowley.
Then he wouldn’t currently be forced into the position he was in, going through a kind of turmoil that was ready to tear him in two at the first sign of things going south, he wouldn’t be second guessing every single thing he did or said, but Aziraphale also knew that if he'd never met Crowley, he wouldn’t even be around to doubt or second guess anything; Crowley had been the one to keep him alive through the worst of their growing up years, even when he didn’t quite want to be, and now able to make his own choices, he wanted to provide at least some of that help in return.
Aziraphale found himself reaching for and knocking on the door even before he meant to, the sound of his fist against the wood rang back through his ears and he tried not to let the silence intimidate him as he listened closely for any noise.
His face fell in surprise as when greeted only with silence, the door still swung open, creaking and cracking against the hinges, suddenly coming face to face with Crowley who looked tired and less than pleased to be seeing him on the other side of the door, coming around again.
“we should talk.” Aziraphale said, shoving down all his building up nervousness, ignoring Crowley's lack of enthusiasm.
“no.” Crowley replied quickly. “I'm too busy.”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes at Crowley's signature stubbornness, grabbing the side of the door with a quickness that surprised even himself as Crowley tried to close the door, wincing as he prepared for his hand to be slammed between the doorframe.
“Crowley, listen to me. We need to talk.” Aziraphale pulled the door from Crowley's grip.
“you say all you want to do is talk, but you never say what you actually mean, so if we do talk, don’t dare try to lie to me again.”
“I didn’t lie – fine. Fine.” Aziraphale gave in reluctantly as Crowley began to close the door again. “I won't lie. Now, either let me in or come out.”
Aziraphale stood back and watched as Crowley pulled on his shoes, an old, worn out black pair of doc martens, the leather creased, the laces knotted, easily slipping into them, taking the time to create a repeatable mantra in his head that this talk would work everything out, that Crowley couldn’t be too different from the boy he used to know.
Aziraphale tried to keep himself calm, not quite able to believe it as he and Crowley began to awkwardly walk down the path side by side, not able to match their strides like he used to, feeling more distant from him than ever.
He felt much like he was sure the moon did, lonely and hanging in the sky, surrounded by inconsequential stars, a warmth lighting up his back, a brightness he needed so that others would care about him, a warmth he didn’t have within himself; Crowley was the sun, distant enough so that he did not burn Aziraphale, feeling too lost in the expansiveness of the love he still had for Crowley, distant enough that Aziraphale wouldn’t crash into him, sure that it was the push he needed to make Crowley see it, knowing they were never quite close enough.
Aziraphale needed some warmth to make him feel more alive, too keep him going, and he knew Crowley needed a respite from the burning he experienced, and he hoped they'd be able to help each other eventually, they just had to let each other in again.
“is your dad feeling better?” Aziraphale asked, unable to stand the unforgiving silence surrounding them.
“he's not going to get better.” Crowley's head dropped, looking down at the ground. “all there's left to do is wait until it ends.”
Aziraphale wanted to apologise, not sure exactly what for, he wanted to say sorry for the way everything turned out for the worst every single time, but he couldn’t get himself to apologise for either of their parent’s suffering, and it was wrong, he knew it was wrong, but everything twisted around in so many ways that he couldn’t find the black and whiteness within the grey he was consumed by.
“I lied.” Aziraphale said suddenly. “when we last spoke, I lied.”
“I know.” Crowley's voice sounded defeated.
“you knew?” his eyes widened. “how?”
“no one who's actually found peace would look as sad as you always do, tears readying to fall down your cheeks. We’re best friends, I know when you're sad, you don’t hide it well.”
The world fell into a magnificent silence all around Aziraphale's mind when he registered Crowley's words, turning away in a warming embarrassment as he couldn’t stop the cheek aching smile taking over his face, falling into a recognisable rhythm when Crowley gently nudged his arm with his elbow, knocking everything back into place and with a clean conscience, Alexis’ helpful advice, and Crowley by his side, Aziraphale felt for the first time in a long time that everything might just work out.
Aziraphale stepped a little closer to Crowley as they continued to walk, heading towards the park, conversation fluidly moving between them as Aziraphale felt his heart pouring out finally with everything he had been holding back.
It felt like there was a sharpened dagger pulled straight out of his heart, the beating muscle wanting to give out from the relief he felt as the painful intrusion was gone, but he felt every part of himself bleeding out, unable to contain it and he knew realistically he wouldn’t ever had stayed clean long, but the happiness made it impossible to care.
Aziraphale knew what he would see if he looked down at himself and so he focused on anything else, keeping his gaze on Crowley who was still opening up like a blooming spring flower, seeing the sun reflected in his eyes.
“hey, you remember that tree over there?” Aziraphale asked, grinning as he pointed into the middle of a row of trees by a fence line, looking between it and Crowley.
“how could I forget?” Crowley chuckled and Aziraphale's heart swooned. “that tree broke my arm.”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes softly, thinking back to the night they snuck out together when everyone else was asleep, trying to one up the other on what they could do, chuckling to himself as he remembered how he chickened out with his feet still on the ground while Crowley began climbing, nearly swinging between the tree branches, more mystical and mysterious when they were younger.
Then with one snapping branch under Crowley's weight, Aziraphale recalled vividly how he watched Crowley's body falling to the ground in slow motion, the world stopping until he eventually made a noise, their night time adventure coming to an abrupt end and seeming much less appealing as they walked home, having to decide how they'd explain what happened to Crowley's parents.
“you broke your own arm.” Aziraphale corrected.
“I had to protect my honour, you said I wouldn’t be able to do it.”
“well, I wasn’t actually expecting you to do it.”
“you should’ve.”
“I know.”
Aziraphale laughed, Crowley joined in, and he did everything he could to enjoy the comfort he found within himself as he walked so close to Crowley, feeling that worry in his chest planted too deeply to be dug out so easily still resting there, this day would come to an inevitable end and he would go one way, Crowley would go another, and he was determined to not let that happen, not again.
Although he wasn’t sure at all how he was going to make Crowley come with him, to make everything he wanted happen, Aziraphale was certain he'd come up with something, so lost in his own thoughts and plans he nearly missed it when Crowley spoke.
“wonder if the ducks are still here.” Crowley sounded hopeful.
Aziraphale felt a little burst of surprise bloom through him, followed quickly by sadness as he realised the ducks they befriended as children would surely be dead by now, replaced by their offspring, everything constantly changed.
“don’t you check up on them? You loved those ducks.” Aziraphale asked, squinting his eyes as he looked at Crowley, unsure what would have kept him away from his pet project for too long.
“I still love them, but I'm too busy for that now.” Crowley frowned and Aziraphale looked away. “with my dad and all that, I have to do most things for him, don’t have time for anything else anymore.”
“why don’t you come live with me.” Aziraphale interrupted suddenly, nearly regretting his words immediately after he understood them in the strange silence that followed.
“I was sorry to hear about your mom.” Crowley said as if Aziraphale had never even spoken.
“oh…yeah, thanks, I guess.” Aziraphale nearly mumbled and then shrugged, not wanting to think about her or the funeral.
Aziraphale wanted to ask a particular question, needed to know the answer like he needed water, but the slowly rolling brook was nearly in front of them, there was a smile on Crowley's face, and he couldn’t get himself to ruin the moment by asking how Crowley could even stand to look at his father, how he was able to care for the man who ruined so many years of his life, not being consumed by memories, Crowley was stronger than him in that regard.
Aziraphale could easily, although reluctantly, recall the countless times he saw Crowley on a new day, either at school or during one of their hidden escapades, and how he was able to see vividly the bruises and cuts on his skin that weren’t there less than twelve hours ago.
He had avoided his parents, and Crowley, for decades, some part of him wishing that Crowley was doing the same thing, living the wildfire life he often dreamily talked about wanting, and it hurt Aziraphale deeply to know, to really understand, that Crowley had been forced to stay behind, and that in his little life with his bookstore and few friends, he'd lived more than his counterpart.
Crowley didn’t say anything else as he walked off towards the edge of the water, kneeling down carefully, staring out into the nearby bushes, and Aziraphale let him, not wanting to hold him back now, not when they were so close to the final escape.
And so, with a partially forced smile that no one was witness to and a heart that was falling lower into his body, Aziraphale silently watched, turning around to sit on a nearby bench that wasn’t there when he was a child, constantly looking over his shoulder with wide eyes as if the moment he focused on anything but Crowley, he would disappear.
This dream in which he found himself wrapped in its delight would be much closer to a nightmare if Crowley did disappear, if he was no longer anywhere to be found, if in some strange twist of circumstances and for his own comfort, he'd created Crowley all for himself, an imaginary friend, but Aziraphale rubbed his eyes and blinked, Crowley was still there, and although he looked so different from the boy he grew up with, he was still the same person he'd so easily grown to love.
There were constant, gentle breezes flowing against Aziraphale's body as he relaxed, keeping his eyes open and trained on Crowley, how he stretched his neck and clucked strangely to call over the ducks which were nowhere to be seen and he was smiling again as Crowley sat on the ground.
As the day continued to warm and the sun settled high in the sky, being held up by some invisible force, hung up by god some believed, Aziraphale not so much anymore, and there, he noticed, was a rising sweet scent in the breeze, meeting him in the flowing waves as he looked at the sky.
Aziraphale looked around for a few moments before spotting an apple tree not too far away, healthy green leaves shining in the light it so desperately desired, hiding bright red speckles in between the branches, and looking down, there were bunches of flowers growing all around it, thriving in the shade, distantly hearing the drowning buzz of pollen collecting bees and sugar eating wasps from the fallen, rotting apples.
Aziraphale watched the natural scene for a little while longer before his heart suddenly dropped, his mind taking another moment to catch up, realising not long after that there was a silence all around him and coming from the water, fearing the worst when he looked over and saw Crowley was no longer there, jumping and nearly yelling in surprise when he found Crowley to be sitting right next to him on the stiff wooden bench.
Aziraphale waited for his heart to calm down its racing, smiling at Crowley before leaning back on the bench, Crowley following his moves, reaching out a hand, resting it across the back of the bench and Aziraphale's cheeks flushed, nearly forgotten as they began talking like nothing had changed.
There was a moment of silence for the both of them to take a breath and he didn’t want to ruin it, but his head was hurting with the amount of thoughts he had, like it was enough pressure to make it explode and fall out his ears in soggy, pink clumps.
“I really did mean it.” Aziraphale swallowed anxiously, rubbing his palm against his trousers. “you could – “
“angel.” Crowley's voice came out in a near whine, fighting against so many parts of himself.
“no, listen. You should come with me tonight.” He rushed out before Crowley could interrupt. “I have a place you can stay in my bookshop. Please.” Now it was his turn to whine.
His mind was running faster than what he could keep up with once he heard Crowley call him angel again.
He felt as though he had risen from the dead, his past lives, nearly forgotten hurts, finally catching up with him, and it somehow all made him feel more alive, Crowley made him feel more alive, and he wasn’t sure that it mattered anymore just how much it hurt in the end, not if it was Crowley who made him feel it, none of it mattered in the end.
“I can't.” Crowley said finally. “I need you to understand that I can't just leave, not anymore.”
Aziraphale knew that it was stupid, but at what he was sure were the beginnings of an argument, there were immediate tears in his eyes, his mouth wordlessly opening and closing, hating even more that he knew Crowley was watching.
“please don’t cry.” Crowley said gently, grabbing Aziraphale's warm hand in his own. “I'm not trying to upset you, angel.”
“then come with me.” Aziraphale tried again, knowing that he sounded pathetic, but he didn’t want to give up on them so easily.
“please stop asking. I really do…like you, angel, I don’t want to lose you, not again.” Crowley rambled a few more moments longer. “we could meet up when I have some free time.”
Aziraphale tried to take a deep breath but it came out in rather shuddered rushes, his teeth chattering together as a tear fell down his cheek, quickly followed by others, and he wiped them away so that Crowley wouldn’t notice, but he did, and Aziraphale let himself be pulled into Crowley's side, temple resting against his chest, Crowley's arm snaking around his shoulders.
“I hate this.”
“I know.” Crowley replied sympathetically, sounding as though he wholly agreed.
“I deserve, just once, Crowley, to get what I want, and why do I always have to want the impossible? Why do I want you? Why can't I have you?”
Crowley only hummed and rubbed his hand up and down Aziraphale's arm comfortingly, and he sobbed harder in the silence, finding he couldn’t dislike Crowley no matter if he thought he deserved it.
He found himself feeling much like a gun, relatively harmless by itself, Crowley was the bullet, the thing that really made him dangerous, especially to himself, one couldn’t do much damage without the other, but together they were lethal, and Aziraphale could feel himself bleeding out helplessly.
Aziraphale looked over as Crowley shifted, watching him check the time, sighing deeply before nudging him up and he moved slightly, wanting still to be close.
“I'm really sorry, angel, but I have to go. It’s my dad.”
Aziraphale bit his lip to stop himself from crying more than he already had, having no energy left within his body or soul to fight and so he held up his own weight, watching silently as Crowley stood, looking down at him.
“I really am sorry, angel. Sorry for absolutely everything.” Crowley said weakly, as if his words really meant anything when they hardly reached Aziraphale's ears, barely managing a smile.
“I'm sorry, too.” I love you, Aziraphale repeated in the same, regretful tone.
Aziraphale stayed nearly stone still, his last few tears drying up, staring dead ahead at Crowley who reluctantly turned his back to him, walking at a slow enough pace that made it seem as if he weren’t moving at all, never looking over his shoulder.
As Crowley became more distant, Aziraphale was overcome with the desire to scream for him, to get him by any means to run back to him, but he failed greatly to even move, hating that he only felt compelled to tell Crowley what he meant to him when he was already gone, unsure why Crowley being there with him was not enough to get him to tell the truth.
In a town in which everyone he used to know had either left or died long ago, and one in which Aziraphale now found himself entirely alone, he realised just how much of a dreadful comfort it was to learn that eventually you run out of people to grieve.