Chapter Text
Here in Eden, all the nights are nice.
“What a day it’s been, don’t you think?” Aziraphale murmurs.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
Crowley collapses next to him on the grass, just out of earshot of everyone else as Aziraphale chuckles.
“It’s so strange to be back here after so long. Do you still remember when we first met?”
“Angel,” Crowley says with a snort, “you can’t possibly think I’d forget that. S’not every day an angel of the Lord tells you he’s given away his flaming sword to keep the humans warm after they were banished from Eden.”
“Oh, you know what I mean.” Aziraphale steals a glance at Crowley from under his lashes. Tentatively, he holds out his hand in the space between them.
There’s a split second of hesitation before Crowley takes his hand, lacing their fingers together gently. It’s still so strange and new—Crowley feels a little like he’s caught in a dream. He can count on his fingers the number of times his skin has ever brushed Aziraphale’s in the thousands of years they have spent together. And yet here they are now, holding hands like it’s nobody’s business. It’s so fucking unbelievable that Crowley has to repress the urge to pinch himself hard to check.
He’s pretty sure he’s awake, though. He doesn’t think he could dream up the way Aziraphale’s thumb is running gentle circles over his skin.
“I was very taken with you, you know,” Aziraphale says, his eyes fixed on their entwined fingers.
“The feeling was mutual, angel,” Crowley says faintly, and that makes Aziraphale laugh. Someone help him, he’d do anything just to see Aziraphale smile like this every day of the rest of his existence. “Still is.”
“You don’t know how happy I am to hear it.” Aziraphale looks shyly up at him. “Honestly, I felt a little foolish today after meeting everyone. We seem to be a bit of an outlier here.”
“Nothing foolish about it, whatever everyone else has to say,” Crowley says, scoffing. “You’ve no idea what kind of teasing I’ve had to put up with from Anthony and the others.”
“Yes, that’s exactly it. No one else seems to have kept silent about it for as long as we did.” Aziraphale’s hand tightens around Crowley’s, and his smile turns a shade closer to melancholy. “Perhaps it would have made no difference after all whether I’d kissed you today, or when I first met you… maybe I should have kissed you that day of the first rain. Did all that waiting do us any good, in the end?”
There’s a lull in the conversation as Crowley tries to process this. He’s rarely ever heard Aziraphale so forthcoming with his emotions. He’s gazing at Crowley soberly, as though he’s been thinking about this for a long time.
And perhaps he has. Crowley has no idea what happened to the angel in the days they were apart—his heart clenches at the thought of everything Aziraphale had to witness and endure, caught in a universe that was ripping itself apart at the seams. He sees the marks the past few weeks have left on Aziraphale—the furrow in his brow that never seems to fully relax, the tightness around his mouth, the protective need to keep Crowley close by, safe under his wing.
It’s strange to put into words the sentiments that Crowley’s held so close to his chest for so many years now, but he tries his best. The least he can do is to give Aziraphale the same honesty in return. Even if it’s flaying him open to speak of his own secrets, worn on his sleeve but guarded jealously in his heart.
“None of that, angel,” Crowley says at last. There’s no denying how exposed he feels, naked and vulnerable under Aziraphale’s eyes. “It wasn’t safe for either of us. I know you did what you had to.”
“I did, and I appreciated you all the more for understanding that.” Aziraphale’s eyebrows knit together, a crease forming between them. “Although I do think I owe you an apology for how we left things before we were separated.”
“Look, it was a stupid thing, really—”
“No, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, his voice unexpectedly firm. “I think I’ve had quite enough of us dancing around each other like this.” He takes a deep breath. “You see, it makes sense for us to have held back all those years, but after the end of world—or the lack thereof, I should say—there was really no reason to, other than my own misgivings. Which isn’t to say I didn’t feel the same, dearest, you know I did,” he adds, forestalling Crowley’s objections. “I had simply grown so comfortable to the way we were. What if it didn’t work out for us, or if it turned out that we might not want the same things after all? There were simply too many risks… or so I thought. I was a coward,” he says simply. “I was willing to sacrifice what we could have just to be able to hold on to what we already were.”
“Angel,” Crowley says softly. He’s not sure what’s more overwhelming, the depth of Aziraphale’s regard, or the fact that he’s speaking of it so frankly—none of the dithering or plausible deniability Crowley’s become so accustomed to over the millennia. “I would have been happy, as long as I had you. You know that, don’t you?”
Aziraphale’s eyes are oddly bright. “But you see, you deserve so much more than that.”
Crowley shakes his head. “Look, Aziraphale, I get what you’re trying to say, I do. But you and I, whatever this is…” He trails off for a moment, and he thinks of the way Camiel had held Ezra when he collapsed after the injured Crowley had been healed of his divine injuries.
He knows just how difficult it is for angels to toe Heaven’s party line. Far be it from him to ever hold that against Aziraphale.
“I knew you loved me, angel,” Crowley scrapes out at last, his throat burning. “It frustrated me that we could never seem to get around to talking about it, but it was enough. It was enough to know that you loved me.”
“Oh, dearest.” Aziraphale lifts their clasped hands, presses a kiss to Crowley’s knuckles. “I did. I do.” He sighs quietly. “I’ve kept you waiting far longer than you should have… I’m very glad I wasn’t too late. I feared I’d never see you again.”
“Me too,” Crowley admits. He thinks about the weeks after he’d discovered Aziraphale had gone when he’d tried to find solace at the bottom of one bottle of liquor after another. On impulse, he scoots closer to Aziraphale until their shoulders are almost touching and lets out a long breath of relief when Aziraphale drapes a wing over him, enveloping him in warmth.
“I missed you,” Aziraphale whispers. “I missed you so much I felt it in my very bones.”
Crowley can’t resist leaning a little closer. “Missed you too, angel.”
“I hoped you’d find me again. It was all that kept me going, some days…” Aziraphale falls silent.
“What was it like, being there?”
A quick sidelong glance is all it takes for Crowley to notice the shadow that’s fallen across Aziraphale’s face. There’s a long pause. Crowley feels the white wing tucking itself more closely around him, as though to shield him.
“I don’t even know where to begin.” Aziraphale lets out a breath in a slow exhale. “It was… terrifying, to say the least. But there was wonder in it, too.”
“How could anything in that war zone of a world be wonderful?” Crowley shudders, remembering the screams, the crackle of divinity in the air, the frantic beat of his heart.
“Did Alexander tell you anything about it?”
“He did.” Crowley thinks for a moment. “Mostly to warn me about what would happen when we got there. Told me his Crowley was injured, and that the two of them weren’t the only angel and demon with… an arrangement. That’s how he described it.” He can feel the heat climbing to his face. “You know what I mean.”
Aziraphale nods. “You know, I was surprised. Michael and Ligur. I didn’t see that coming at all.”
“Me neither.” Crowley huffs out a laugh. “An Archangel and a Duke of Hell? What was that like? No, actually, I don’t want to know.”
“It took me a long time to get used to it,” Aziraphale says, his lips turning up into a small smile. “Theirs was a very quiet sort of love. No fanfare whatsoever. They loved each other, and that was that.”
“Huh.” Crowley doesn’t particularly want to think about it, but he has to admit that it doesn’t sound too bad, in its own way. “I always thought it’d be Gabriel and Beelzebub, to be honest.” He chances another glance at Aziraphale, who seems to be turning this over in his mind.
“I did too,” Aziraphale says after a long moment. “It’s an odd thing, the way those two love… And yes, I can tell they do. But for some reason, they’ve chosen to turn it on its head and call it hate.”
“Two sides of the same coin and all that, I suppose.”
“It makes me wonder,” Aziraphale murmurs. “Perhaps if they had chosen differently, then their world wouldn’t be in such chaos.”
They sit in silence for a few moments, interrupted by Anthony’s voice in the background raised in annoyance, Antonia responding with a laugh.
“What are you smiling about?” Aziraphale’s face softens, and there’s a hint of his usual twinkle back in his eyes.
Crowley jerks his head in the direction of the voices. “Been pretty chaotic here too, I’d say.”
Aziraphale hums thoughtfully. “Really, it was rather disorienting to meet everyone. So many different versions of us! I can’t even imagine that angel fresh out of the Garden, he must have had a terrible shock. What have you been calling him again?”
“Oh, Aeos,” Crowley says, chuckling. “Do you know we found him with Quetz? Y’know, the one who’s half-serpent?”
“Is that so?” Aziraphale’s eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly meet his hairline. “And how did Aeos take that?”
“They’ve gotten along very well, you know,” Crowley says, grinning at Aziraphale. “I feel like you’re making some sort of commentary about Quetz and his corporation. Dare I say you object to his gorgeous snakey body?”
“Don’t put words into my mouth,” the angel sniffs. “I certainly have no objections—”
“No objections?” Crowley interrupts, more than a little shocked by this revelation. “After I was cursed to crawl on my belly, and all that?”
“Don’t be obtuse,” Aziraphale says haughtily, but there’s a light blush rising to his cheeks. “What I mean to say is that I, that is… whatever you wish to wear is quite alright with me.”
“Whatever I wish to—” Crowley can’t prevent himself from snickering. “Angel, seems to me as though you’re in favour of Quetz’s form.”
Aziraphale swats at his arm lightly. “Crowley! You cannot possibly be suggesting—”
“You know, I could look like that,” Crowley muses, “theoretically, you know, if you wanted.”
“My, my, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, looking very much as though butter wouldn’t melt in his prim mouth. “One might be somewhat inclined to imagine you’re feeling something like jealousy.”
Whatever teasing remark Crowley had ready on the tip of his tongue vanishes into the aether as he splutters out a stream of incoherent vowels. “I’m not—”
“There, there,” Aziraphale says, patting his elbow in the most infuriating manner. “Rest assured, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”
“Hang on—”
“But while we’re on the topic, I feel I must reiterate that I have no objections to Quetz and his form.” Aziraphale’s eyes are dancing with merriment now. “None whatsoever.”
Crowley’s face is on fire. “Angel,” he chokes out.
“Which is to say that my feelings for you do not depend on what form you decide to take.” It’s thoroughly aggravating how calmly he manages to voice these opinions while Crowley is reduced to a blushing incoherent mess. “So if you theoretically decided to trade your legs for a snake’s tail, I would be quite amenable.”
After this last remark, he seems to finally take pity on Crowley, who’s too flustered to speak. “Joking aside, my dear, I do mean it, you know.”
All Crowley has to offer in response is a startled “ngkrgh,” and Aziraphale laughs.
“Really, Crowley, I’d always thought you’d be more than capable of tolerating innuendo. But I’ll stop before your ears burst into flame.” He gazes at Crowley, the amusement clear on his face. “Tell me about the others instead. I hear you’ve had a few adventures yourself.”
“Nothing particularly exciting,” Crowley says, grumpy after being teased and quite unable to regain his composure. But to his surprise, Aziraphale’s wing actually gathers closer around him and pulls him in until he and Aziraphale are pressed flush together, shoulder to shoulder. “I see how it is,” Crowley protests. “First you mock me, and now you manhandle me.”
“I’m not doing anything of the sort, dearest,” Aziraphale says demurely. “Unless that is something you might be interested in, of course.
Crowley lets out a startled yelp and turns his face away, too embarrassed to look at Aziraphale in the eye. The angel laughs and takes Crowley’s hand in both of his own—it’s obviously an attempt to placate Crowley, and he isn’t having it. He sits stiffly, stubbornly trying to resist melting into Aziraphale’s touch, but it becomes apparent in a matter of seconds that all is lost. He leans down to press his cheek against the angel’s broad shoulder with a huff.
“I don’t know how I can even stand you,” he mutters.
“You know the answer to that perfectly well,” the angel says comfortably. “Now tell me all about it, please. What was it like when you met Anthony?” Crowley can feel the angel gazing at him. “It must have been quite a shock.”
“What an understatement.” Crowley chuckles despite himself. “I thought he was a demon trying to get into the bookshop.” He raises one shoulder, lowers it in a half-shrug. “I mean, I wasn’t wrong. But he’d disguised himself before he came in, and we nearly discorporated each other before I got a good look at him and saw his eyes.”
“Very lovely eyes indeed,” Aziraphale agrees.
Crowley splutters for a moment before he recovers from this. “Anyway, so we ended up back here together. Been picking everyone else up in pairs. Anthony’s been taking point, and A.J. and I take turns to go with him.”
Aziraphale makes a quiet sound. “Have you thought about why all this might be happening?”
“Well, yeah.” Crowley considers this question. He’s not certain how much he can share of what Anthony has told them. “See, angel, Anthony says he can sort of… sense his way toward where he’s supposed to go. He’s been trying to go in the direction of his Aziraphale, I think. But we still haven’t found him. Going from what Anthony has said, seems like he thinks that whatever happened to his angel is what triggered all of this.”
“And what does he think happened to his angel?”
Crowley wasn’t expecting him to sound so sombre. He glances up at Aziraphale and sees his face turned up toward the sky, its dark expanse dotted with stars.
“He expects the worst,” Crowley says softly. “We’ve told him what we think already—”
“Which is?”
“Which is that he’s being absurd, of course.”
It takes a while before Aziraphale speaks again. “Have you considered that he might be right?”
“Impossible,” Crowley says decisively.
“You don’t know that.”
“Hang on.” This is enough to make Crowley straighten up. “What makes you say that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he sighs. “Anything might be possible at this point, don’t you think? Consider the fact that there’s a universe where I Fell and you didn’t, and another where the apocalypse has restarted and is well on its way. Why should that idea be so far-fetched?”
Crowley is struggling to marshal an argument against this. “It’s impossible and you know it.”
“You don’t know that,” Aziraphale repeats, and his tone is sharp enough now that Crowley almost pulls away—but even in the moonlight, he catches the tremble of Aziraphale’s lips.
“That’s not true, angel,” Crowley says, soft but firm. “There’s no universe where I exist, and you don’t.”
An audible exhale leaves Aziraphale’s parted lips, and he shakes his head minutely. “Crowley,” he whispers, “you have no idea what it was like there, to be constantly fearing for our lives nearly every moment. That time you arrived, when Alexander’s Crowley and I were separated…” His throat works visibly for a few seconds before he can continue. “I thought that Sandalphon had—that he had—”
“But he didn’t,” Crowley says, longing desperately to soothe Aziraphale, whose lips are pressed together tightly as though to still their quivering. “Honest to someone, angel, I always knew you were strong, but I had no idea you were capable of overpowering Sandalphon.”
Aziraphale exhales sharply. “I hardly deserve credit for that. I only reinforced your hellfire.”
“I didn’t even know that was possible,” Crowley says softly. “Divine flame and hellfire together.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. What if it hadn’t worked? What if you had called up too much hellfire and—” Aziraphale’s voice breaks. “What if I hadn’t made it in time?”
“But you did. You saved us. You saved me.” Crowley can’t stand this for much longer. “Look at me, angel, please.”
When Aziraphale finally glances at Crowley, his blue eyes are red-rimmed and wet. Crowley can feel him shivering, and it breaks his heart. He tentatively lays his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, and the angel’s self-control gives way with the force of a dam breaking—he folds into Crowley’s arms, his whole body shaking with sobs.
It’s all Crowley can do to hold Aziraphale as tightly as he can, to let him find some respite from the terror he carried with him the whole time they were apart. Crowley blinks away the moisture from his own eyes and presses his lips against Aziraphale’s temple.
“Breathe, angel,” Crowley murmurs. “S’alright, we all made it out thanks to you. If anything, I’m even more convinced now. We don’t cancel each other out,” he says, the revelation dawning on him slowly. “Call it equipoise or whatever you like. It simply isn’t possible for one of us to exist without the other. Doesn’t it strike you as strange how Anthony and I made it there just in time? And how you found us right when Sandalphon did? I’d almost call it…” Crowley shudders slightly, but he says it anyway. “I’d call it ineffable.”
It doesn’t escape his notice that the wing curled protectively around him relaxes infinitesimally at his words. “You can rest for a while,” Crowley says softly. “Let me take a turn for once.”
“No,” Aziraphale says with his face hidden in Crowley’s neck, sniffling. His shivering has eased somewhat after his outburst, much to Crowley’s relief.
“We’re safe here. We all are.” Crowley rubs circles into Aziraphale’s back, as close to the base of the angel’s wings as he dares. “You can let go, just for a bit.”
Aziraphale still doesn’t relax entirely, but his wing falls gently against Crowley’s shoulders now, a warm blanket rather than an iron shield. Something tells Crowley that it will be a long while before the haunted look leaves Aziraphale’s eyes, and that no small amount of coaxing will relieve the tension of his rigid shoulders.
Instead, Crowley holds the angel until his tears let up, like a storm passing. Until his weight is heavy against Crowley’s chest, his breathing even and measured. Crowley keeps vigil over his angel as at last, he sleeps.