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Aziraphale could feel eyes bearing down on him and voices jeering at him as he felt his way to Heaven's gates.
"You haven't earned that title"
"Who do you think you are?"
"I would have Fallen for an offer like that"
He felt something push him, and then he was Falling.
He could almost feel the tips of his wings singeing. He could almost feel wind blowing in his hair as he felt down. All of his sins must have built up, he must have been Falling. There was no way he wasn't. All the things he had done, after all: Giving away the flaming sword, fraternizing with a demon, refusing God, running off to be with said demon, all those thoughts that were very much not in the Bible.
"No, no, no, this can't be happening" He thought to himself, kicking and screaming now.
He felt trapped, like something was surrounding him on all sides.
This was Falling, wasn't it?
This truly was our favorite angel's worst fear. Since the day of the mass Falling, it had been driven into his head that he should never fall, that he should never give in to temptation even the slightest bit or else he would be stripped of all holiness. Surely he had given in to more than a small bit of temptation with all the things he had done.
Warmth around him was growing, as if blankets were being piled on top of him. Arms ghosted over him, pulling him down, trapping him.
He held out a hand to touch his formerly pristeen white robe, but couldn't feel it.
His wings, his wings! They weren't there anymore. He discovered his by grasping at his back.
Something was holding his head now. It was whispering things Aziraphale couldn't quite make out and wasn't sure he wanted to find out.
Aziraphale writhed. Kicking at the entity caressing his head, he pushed himself away.
He hit the ground with a thud.
He no longer felt like he was falling for the floor beneath him felt sturdy. The warmth was gone, replaced with coldness.
There was relief.
Crowley looked over the side of the bed in worry. Aziraphale had been having recurring dreams of Falling ever since he had turned down the Metatron's offer. It was heart wretching to Crowley to see his purest of angels feel that way about himself. Usually, the only thing he could do to help was wrap Aziraphale in blankets to pad his flailing and stroke his hair to try to make him feel safe, but today it was doing the opposite of intended.
"Aziraphale?" He cautioned, holding out a hand to lift up his angel's head.
A response came in the form of a groan and he began to stir.
"Are you there?" The angel asked groggily,
"Yeah?"
"How did you do this all by yourself?"
There were a few sniffles and Crowley dragged a pillow to the floor to join Aziraphale.
"It took me four thousand years to accept it, love. You're still you, though. You're alright, you're still here, I'm still here, no one is taking that away today," He affirmed, sliding the pillow under his husband's head.
The truth was, Crowley didn't really know how he had come to terms with his Fall. Now, it just seemed like something that happened and he had been there, done that. Aziraphale hadn't even fell.
He hummed low and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale.
"You're an amazing angel, Aziraphale. It was just a dream,"