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Aziraphale is tired.
He should’ve expected to feel like this, obviously. Years and years of mentally preparing for Armageddon only to have it last as long as a particularly unenjoyable meal.
He remembers reading about mothers lifting cars to save their babies, and he pretty much feels like them. He shouldn’t have been able to withstand so many emotions — let alone make miracles — and yet he sat in The Ritz with Crowley, feeling as if the world was his oyster, fresh as the day he’d been thought into creation by the Almighty, pardon his blasphemy.
And after the drinks and the laughter and making their way into the back of the bookshop — Crowley’s face shows the clear signs of exhaustion that he should be feeling.
“I think I’ll take a quick nap,” Crowley says, as the sun goes down, “maybe a week.”
“You’ve been through a lot,” Aziraphale agrees, even though the thought of being left alone’s too much to bear.
“We , angel, you should take a nap too,” Crowley yawns, and Aziraphale’s glad that he can’t see his reaction.
“Not my thing — sleep.”
“Hm, suit yourself.”
Aziraphale looks around the room, his hands fluttering awkwardly over his belly. Crowley waits for him to talk.
“You could, ehrm, sleep. Here. Upstairs, I mean. I never use that room.”
Crowley doesn’t answer.
“It’s just — we should probably stick together — for a bit, of course, until we’re completely sure —“
“Okay,” Crowley stands up, cutting off Aziraphale’s mess of a sentence. “Anything you need, you just call me, angel.”
And so, Aziraphale now sits in the bookshop’s backroom, alone, a day after Crowley had disappeared upstairs and into a deep slumber. He can’t focus on the book at hand, or the hot cocoa he made, already gone cold. He didn’t even have the energy to miracle it warm.
He’s completely drained. The words swim before him, and his head feels heavy. His body feels heavy. His corporation’s on the verge of shutting down, not for the first time — but it’s been too long since he felt like this. And even then, he can’t remember ever feeling so out of control of his own body. He’s an angel, for Somebody’s sake.
He briefly thinks of checking up on Crowley, if only to have something to do, but the thought of getting up requires too much energy. He drops his head until it hits the back of his armchair.
He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he knows he should try to open them. He can’t fall asleep. Not again. He can’t —
His thoughts slip through his fingers like sand.
And he falls.
i.
Aziraphale blinked, confused at the sudden clarity. Miles and miles of sand extended before him. He’d been here just yesterday — but that memory fluttered and disappeared before he could hold on to it.
He was in the desert. And, kneeling in front of him — them.
He remembered this moment. Every day of his life, for six thousand years, he'd been reminded of the first time his faith had wavered. Only now — he felt like he could admit it.
Eve and Adam were holding on to Abel’s body. They’d found it in the morning, no sign of Cain anywhere. Aziraphale had been the only one to see him go — lost and small.
Aziraphale washed his face, washed his hands. It’d been a long time since he’d cleaned either of the boys, and he felt the need to hold him close one last time. He looked younger, his calloused hands the only sign of the years he’d been alive and working.
He’d never seen so much blood — and he knew Cain hadn’t either.
“I’m sorry,” Cain said. The last words Aziraphale heard him say.
He was gone by the time his parents arrived. But wherever he was, Aziraphale knew he heard Eve’s screams, shaking this new world they’d come to call their home.
Crawley stood behind Aziraphale, not daring to interrupt the scene. Both of them felt Them near. Death. Their first job with the humans.
“What have you done?” Eve cried out, the blood of her youngest son slipping through her fingers.
It took a few seconds for Aziraphale to realise she wasn’t talking to Crawley.
The demon walked past him, kneeling down next to her and Adam.
“It’s not his fault,” Crawley said, his voice soft. It reminded Aziraphale of the way he had talked to the animals in Eden, scared they would run away in fear. “She did it.”
Eve’s brown eyes were stuck on Aziraphale, even as her hands held on to Abel. “My baby, you’ve killed my baby.”
Aziraphale took a step backwards, uselessly trying to find words. Eve’s eyes – he had never seen pain like that. He thought her screams as she gave birth had been heartbreaking, but hearing and watching her as she desperately held on to her son’s corpse –
“You’re not welcome here anymore,” Adam said, his eyes never looking up, his voice as steady as ever.
“But, I – my duty – I have to protect you,” Aziraphale managed to say. He didn’t remember his voice trembling like that.
Eve closed her eyes, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Look at where your protection has gotten us.”
“Aziraphale,” Crawley put a hand on Eve’s shoulder, “I think you better leave them alone for now.”
“Forever,” corrected Adam. His gaze had never left Abel since they found his body, his hand buried in his son’s curls.
Aziraphale looked at Crawley. He briefly thought that maybe he should blame the demon for the humans’ sudden hate – but he understood. Aziraphale was Heaven, and Heaven had divided their sons, had drove them to fight after fight until Cain –
“V-very well,” Aziraphale mumbled, unable to look at the couple but feeling like his whole being was burning by the intensity of those golden eyes, “I’m sorry.”
And he shouldn’t be. God had decided that Abel’s life had to end. And She must’ve had a reason.
But oh, how sorry he was. How utterly heartbroken and sorry he was for the family that She had destroyed.
“It’s not his fault,” Crawley repeated. Aziraphale didn’t know if he was talking to the couple or him. “It’s ineffable.”
Before he could leave, the ground beneath him opened.
And he fell.
ii.
Jesus cried.
Aziraphale stood in the garden, blinking at the sudden change. It was nighttime, and the only noise he could hear was Jesus’ prayer.
“Aziraphale,” Jesus said, raising his head. He was kneeling, and his hands tried to hold on to Aziraphale’s robes. “Is there no other way?”
He’d held Jesus just hours after he was born. He’d played and listened and prayed with him, even as Heaven turned their eyes away from the Son of God. He followed him wherever he went, hidden from sight so as to not go against Heaven’s orders.
They both knew what would happen the next day. They both knew what was written. They both knew the Great Plan.
And yet, Jesus was human. His humanity was stronger than his divinity.
Aziraphale wiped his tears away. Jesus closed his eyes with a trembling breath.
“My boy,” Aziraphale whispered. He didn’t remember the fondness in his voice, as unangelic as himself. “You can’t rewrite what’s been written. We all have a part to play in your Father’s Great Plan.”
“There’s so much more I could do,” Jesus sighed, “so many places I could visit, people I could talk to. All the Kingdoms of the world.”
“Your place is in Heaven, next to your Father.”
Jesus opened his eyes. He was even younger than Aziraphale remembered, and his heart broke once again. He thought of the first family — of Crowley.
“And your place is here, on Earth,” Jesus had stopped crying, instead shaking, “you will look after it until the end, won’t you?”
Aziraphale nodded. Armageddon seemed like a far-off memory, one that slipped just out of reach whenever he tried to think of it.
“Go with them,” Aziraphale said, pointing towards the sleeping disciples.
Jesus looked at his friends, and then back at Aziraphale. His eyes hardened with resolve.
“Will you be with me?”
“It’s my duty to protect you.”
“Where I’m going, I don’t need protection,” Jesus stood up. Aziraphale could feel the people approaching. “I just need company.”
The voices sounded closer. Jesus took one last long look at Aziraphale.
“It’s ineffable.”
Jesus turned and walked towards his death.
Aziraphale tried to reach out — to stop him. But before he could call out for him, the ground beneath him opened.
And he fell.
iii.
This time, he was the one kneeling.
He took in his surroundings. He was in a clearing. The armour was heavy, but comforting. He’d missed wearing it, sometimes, missed how protective it felt.
Someone squirmed in his arms, claiming back his attention.
Crowley lay there, hands pressing on an open wound. He was sweating, his eyes closed.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale called. He didn’t remember the fear in his voice. “You should’ve been more careful.”
“I’m dying and that’s all you can think of?” Crowley asked, his face contorting in pain. “Or, well, not dying dying. Haven’t discorporated in a while.”
Aziraphale miracled a clean cloth into existence. He blinked against the black spots dancing in his vision, and wiped the sweat off Crowley’s forehead.
“I could try to… miracle it away,” he offers.
Crowley was shaking. “Mixing your angelic energy? Not — not a good idea.”
“Why would a demon do this?” Aziraphale asked. The only demon he ever met was Crowley, and he could never imagine him attacking anyone.
“Damned if I know,” Crowley opened his eyes, “damned if I don’t. Damnation all around.”
Aziraphale frowned. Crowley was starting to sound delirious.
“What— what if I don’t come back?” Crowley tried to move into a more comfortable position, and immediately hissed. Aziraphale shushed him in what he hoped was a comforting way.
“Don’t be silly,” Aziraphale said, trying very hard to keep the fear away from his voice. “Who would they send up here? It’s just you and I.”
Crowley seemed to calm down at his choice of words. Aziraphale brushed a strand of hair away from his face. He knew Crowley would come back, of course, but the memory of him doing so slipped away, his panic stronger than his logic.
“Think of what I told you while —” Crowley coughed rather violently, blood staining his chin. Aziraphale cleaned it up. “... while I’m... away.”
“Crowley…”
“Please, angel,” Crowley managed a smile, “you can’t tell me it’s not ineffable.”
Aziraphale closed his eyes. He sighed.
When he opened them again, Crowley had gone still in his arms, his eyes staring up at him. Unseeing.
And he knew Crowley was coming back. But his heart started racing even though he didn’t need it. He didn’t remember crying, but his face was wet. He tried to wipe the tears away, but he saw Crowley’s blood on his hand before he managed to do it.
Oh, God, what if Crowley wasn’t coming back? What if Hell wanted revenge for Armageddon? He tried to remember, but the memory was wrong.
“Crowley,” he said, even though he knew he wasn’t hearing him. He was shaking. “Crowley, please, come back.”
He was met with silence. Crowley was dead.
No, no, the memory was wrong. This didn’t — this didn’t happen like this. It didn’t feel like this, so... final. Crowley came back, he always came back.
Our side.
He tried to miracle himself awake —
— and couldn’t.
He was stuck, holding on to Crowley’s corpse, Crowley’s blood staining his armour. He closed his eyes. His head was spinning.
“Let me out, please, let me out.”
He had to wake up — he was dreaming. He was only dreaming. He was safe —
He was alone.
“Crowley!” he called.
Pathetic and unangelic.
“Don’t leave me alone, please, don’t leave me alone, don’t leave me —”
He couldn’t stop shaking. Even behind his closed eyes he could see Crowley’s blood. He felt like he was choking, or maybe he was drowning.
Someone grabbed his shoulders. He tried to open his eyes but they were closed and everything was black and red and he was drowning —
“Aziraphale?”
Aziraphale falls.
“Angel!”
He wakes up, gasping for air, hands desperately grasping at someone.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re safe.”
Aziraphale blinks, trying to calm his breath. Crowley’s standing in front of him, looking worried — but alive.
“Cr-Crowley.”
Crowley nods. Aziraphale tries to stand up, but Crowley’s broad hands nudge him back into the armchair. “Take it easy, angel.”
Aziraphale takes a big breath, just to show himself that he can. “I’m — I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”
Crowley looks confused. “What are you sorry for?”
“You were sleeping.”
“And you were screaming... I had to come and see if you were safe.”
Aziraphale feels the guilt and shame bubble up inside of him. He hadn’t behaved properly at all — he was supposed to be stronger than this.
“Everything’s fine,” he sighs, “you can go back upstairs — not that you have to stay if you don’t want to, obviously —”
“I want to be here,” Crowley says, softly. He lets Aziraphale go, and walks backwards until he sits on the couch. “Do you, ehrm, want to talk about your nightmares?”
Aziraphale drops his gaze to his lap, where his hands flutter nervously. He’s close to saying no, but Crowley’s words are still too fresh. Our side.
“They’re not… nightmares,” Aziraphale says after the silence has settled. When he looks at Crowley, the demon nods as if to ask him to continue. “They’re… memories.”
“Memories,” Crowley repeats, frowning. “About… anything in particular?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale sighs. “It’s a punishment. Or learning experience, as Heaven would say.”
“This is all Heaven’s fault, then.”
“No, it’s… it’s my fault.”
“Angel —”
“When Eve and Adam left, I was called back to Heaven,” he continues, to keep Crowley from saying whatever he wants to say. “They were disappointed, of course. All the other Principalities agreed that I was on apple tree duty — didn’t even give me a chance to explain or even say how sorry I was.”
He closes his eyes. The Archangels had been angry, understandably, at Aziraphale’s mistake. The first time Aziraphale felt scared of Falling.
“They thought I was sleeping on the job — which I wasn’t, of course. I didn’t even know angels could sleep,” he chokes a bitter laugh. Crowley doesn’t find it funny. “The first time I fell asleep I realised I was trapped in my worst memories. My mistakes.”
Crowley stays silent. Aziraphale looks at him, trying to put on a smile. “I miracled myself awake, sobered up before I fell asleep. Heaven realised — Gabriel wasn’t happy at all. Too many frivolous miracles, he said. So they cut down my reserves. Making miracles drained me, and so I had no choice but to sleep. And once asleep, there was no way of waking up on my own.”
“Angel,” Crowley shakes his head, “they — for Somebody’s sake, they’re even worse than I thought. They tortured you.”
“I tortured myself,” Aziraphale corrects, managing a shrug. “If I hadn’t made so many mistakes, then it wouldn’t —”
“No, no, that’s not —” Crowley stands up again, waving his hands around wildly. “Whatever you think are mistakes are just... life, okay? And I know a thing or two about it.”
“Because you came up with life coaching and mindfulness?”
“I mean, yes, but I wasn’t talking about that, ” Crowley walks the distance between them, kneeling in front of Aziraphale. “If you made mistakes, it’s because you can choose. Whatever those memories are, they got you to where you are today.”
Aziraphale lets out a shaky exhale, and they’re so close he ends up moving Crowley’s hair. “My bookshop?”
“Freedom,” Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hands in his, so softly that he almost doesn’t feel them. “You’re free, angel.”
He chokes on the words he wants to say. Crowley flinches, taken aback by —
Oh. Oh. Aziraphale’s crying.
“I’m —” he chokes again, a sob cutting through his sentence, “I’m so sorry, my dear —”
Crowley blinks once. Twice. He opens his arms, clearly trying hard to soften his features into something that won’t scare Aziraphale away.
Aziraphale’s tears become sobs as he drops to the ground, kneeling in front of Crowley. He buries his face on his demon’s chest, and Crowley wraps his arms around him.
“It’s okay, angel,” Crowley whispers, “you’re free.”
Aziraphale is tired. His body is drained, and he’s shaking. He feels as if he’s breaking apart — but he isn’t. Crowley holds him, one hand on his back and the other in his hair. He feels alive and warm and comforting.
There’s shame and guilt inside of him. There’s thousands of years of memories and fears and regrets carved into every corner of his being.
But in his memories — there’s always Crowley. In between all the suffering and pain, there’s always his bright-eyed demon. Together, they stood against everything Heaven and Hell and God and life threw their way.
“We,” Aziraphale manages to say, even though he's not sure Crowley can hear him, “we’re free. Our side.”