Chapter Text
Crowley stared at Aziraphale.
He was still invisible, himself. He wasn’t bothering imagining his form anymore and he liked it that way. It was easier to be in the dimension of the dead when you couldn’t see yourself, because then it was almost like you weren’t really there at all.
It was easier to watch Aziraphale, too. It was worse when he’d had a body. Obnoxious, how much they get in your line of sight, even when you’re not looking at yourself, there’s always your hand or your leg or some part of you getting in your line of vision, and there was always, always some part of yourself getting in the way of your view of the world. Disgusting.
It was easier to watch Aziraphale when he wasn’t constantly reminded that he was also there.
The angel was alone. No, he wasn’t bothering him. He wasn’t embarrassing himself. He wasn’t asking for more than the angel wanted to give. Not this time, at least. He wasn’t seeing only the part of Aziraphale that he saved for the corrupting influence of his long-term enemy, the one never to be completely trusted. He wasn’t giving it all away with the expression on his face. He wasn’t betraying himself.
It was better.
But that wasn’t true at all. Because it had never been just the angel alone that he had been so enamored with, although that, God, he, had been plenty enough. It had always been even more, because he had been in love with the way they were together.
And he wanted so badly just to talk to him. To give himself away. To betray everything.
Since the catastrophe with Death, Aziraphale hadn’t sat still once. Crowley had fled the scene and when he’d returned to the bookstore later on he’d found it empty, the chalk still on the floor, the door not even locked. It had taken him a strangely long time to locate the angel. He’d found him on the other side of London, walking, briskly with his hands in his pockets, a panicked look on his face. Further inspection had shown that it was actually the expression of someone trying to be deep in thought but only able to find themselves splashing around the shallow end. Aziraphale was trying, someone bless him, trying so hard to think, and, like Crowley had been since their last failure, too, he didn’t seem to be able to come up with anything.
So he had walked. Fluttering around the whole of London, traveling by train across the countryside, returning back again, only to step one foot into his bookshop, give a shudder and wince, and turn around and leave again. Crowley followed him. Maybe it was selfish, even cruel. He couldn’t tell if his presence was disturbing the angel or not, although he made sure not to get too close to him. A few other standers-by had shivered once or twice when he was near. Crowley wondered if Aziraphale would be just as upset if he left him alone for a while, as time dragged on. The longer he followed him, even though it was surely counterintuitive, the more he was convinced that Aziraphale would search the globe for ideas whether he was with him or not.
Because there were no more ideas anywhere else in the world than there were in Aziraphale’s bookshop, that was where, after days of aimless wandering, the both of them ended up.
Aziraphale stood in the middle of his shop. His arms at his side, his fingers moving restlessly, he stared out at the hundreds of books and scrolls and ancient tomes, trying to decide where to start.
Crowley was at his side, looking at his face in profile. Unable to face him head-on, even when he was hardly even there.
He heard a bell ring. It was the bell on the door to the store, the one that signaled when customers had arrived, and when all hell was about to break loose. Crowley turned to see who the victim would be, and saw Ligur. The other demon had reached up and tapped the bell, ringing it with an unfathomable look at Crowley, who turned back to watch the angel. Aziraphale hadn’t heard a thing.
Crowley could sense Ligur as he walked up and stood next to him. The both of them watched Aziraphale think.
“It’s not just that I was alone,” Crowley said. “It’s not just that he was the one who happened to be there, all those centuries. It’s that—” and he didn’t know why he was saying this, especially here, especially now, except that maybe being dead will just do that to you— “—he was the only one—I wanted to be—”
Crowley stopped, unable to find the words.
Ligur looked at him impassively. Then he nodded, and said, “Then we best get you back.”
Crowley, tearing his gaze away from the angel, raised an eyebrow at him and tried not to sniff. “Since when d’you do the whole ‘caring’ thing?”
“Since there was nothing better to do,” Ligur grunted. He sneered at Crowley. “Maybe that’s all ‘caring’ has ever been.” He gestured towards Aziraphale. “Talk to him.”
“No,” Crowley said. “It—it’ll only get us in trouble, again—”
“So? Those pansies don’t do anything about it ‘cept get peeved with us.”
“I don’t want them to hurt Aziraphale.”
Ligur snorted. Crowley grew annoyed, and was surprised to find that he could still even do that.
“And you think,” Ligur said, “he’s fine and dandy now? That dandy has never been less fine. You’ve seen him these past weeks, dog-earing pages and stuff, leaving tear stains on his books and all. He’s hurting, serpent, and so are you, so why not make him hurt just a teensy bit more if it’ll get you back?”
Crowley shook his head. He had imagined himself again, then. He choked out, “That’s not—I don’t think it works—”
“Are you afraid of being selfish? Are you still under the impression that this all is happening inside your head? Yours alone? I’ve watched you, demon, and I’ve watched both of you, that angel too.”
Crowley bit his lip. He could almost remember the feeling, just a little bit of pain. He stepped forward and put his hand on Aziraphale’s arm.
This time, it took a moment for the angel to cry, but it wasn’t long. Tears welled up in his eyes. Aziraphale said, “I’m sorry—”
“No, you—” Crowley began. He shook his head, and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do and I don’t know what to tell you, but I need you to save me.”
“I can’t—I want you back so badly.” Aziraphale’s voice had never sounded like that. His eyes were closed and he was shaking. “I want to do whatever I can but I don’t know how, and I don’t know if you can hear me, but Someone, I hope you can—”
“Just,” Crowley stammered, his own vision blurring. Was he crying? “Just—just keep trying—”
“And I think—I think I’m losing hope—you’re the only one who was ever any good at that, Crowley, and I need—I need—oh, God—I can’t—I can’t do this—”
“He’s losing it,” Ligur said. Urgently, “You’re losing him.”
“I’m—trying,” Aziraphale said. “To hold myself together. But—but it feels like I’m falling apart—I’m sorry, this isn’t what you want to hear. I wish I had something useful to tell you. I wish I could make this better, I just—I don’t even know if you’re here—what am I doing?”
“You need to push him more,” Ligur said. “You said it yourself, you can only break this barrier if you get emotional. Make him feel you, Crowley.”
“I need you to not be reserved, angel,” Crowley said, his voice shaking. “I need you to—to falter, for once, because that would be the least natural thing, that would be the most reality-bending thing, for you to just stop going on the way things are and to try to change them, because you’ve done it once before and it stopped the bloody end of the bloody world. And I wish it had been me telling you to stay, back then, back at that base. Cause it’s been me every other time. At least in my head. I’m always the one trying to get you to stay with me, or go with me, wherever I go, and then you, you finally see me about to turn away, and you said ‘stay’, and I did, and look where it left us. And sometimes I wish you hadn’t gotten all the bloody credit, but right now I don’t care, because that’s what I need. I need you to want me to stay.”
Aziraphale was crying. Crowley, too, somehow, was crying along with him.
“You’re doing good,” Ligur said.
“I don’t like this. This feels wrong. This is what I never wanted to do to him. This—it feels like torture.”
“It isn’t torture if it’s good for you, Crowley!” Ligur burst out, breaking through the quiet. “It’s like exercise! It’s like telling the bloody truth!”
“How do I know I should trust you, Ligur?” Crowley shouted between gulps of air that were trying to hold back sobs. “Of all people!”
“Oh, shut up, you know you can!”
Crowley put his other hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and, through his tears, yelled at him, “I need you to call me back!”
Aziraphale knelt down to the ground in an instant. Crowley nearly fell over, not having realized that he had been using the angel for support. Aziraphale was on his knees, bent over, concentrating. He put his hands together, held them to his lips, and started mumbling. And after a few moments of this, the building positively started to shake.
“What’s he doing?” Ligur asked, still yelling.
Crowley got down on his knees in front of him, bending down low so that he could look at his face. The words were quiet, but their power was strong. The wooden panels of the floor were creaking and cracking against each other like they were about to fall to pieces. Books started to clatter down from the shelves.
Crowley listened.
“He’s speaking the language of the angels,” he said, shouting over the noise. Horns were blaring from the road outside. This was happening in more than just the bookshop. “He’s—he’s saying something—I think it’s the words of creation. I think I remember. Words from the very oldest texts we have about the creation of the world. Except he’s reversing them. He’s tearing them apart.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s looking for a way to break the barrier between us.”
“He—he’s just a Principality, right?” Ligur was crouched, avoiding the narrow shelves with a look of terror, holding both hands over his ears. “How does he know how to do that?”
“Because he’s been reading those words for thousands of years.” Crowley grinned at Aziraphale’s nearly hidden face. “That’s why he keeps those old rags. So he’ll remember. Because he knows how powerful words are.”
“Words—words are just made up.”
“Exactly. Because so is everything.”
Dust started to pour down on them from the ceiling. Something strange was happening to the air, tiny streaks of lightning zipping through it, as though the angel were ripping apart the atmosphere, too. Outside there was screaming. Crowley gripped the angel’s shoulders, starting to be afraid, himself. The building shook again and Ligur fell onto his knees, looking around frantically. Aziraphale kept saying the words.
Crowley expected Z this time. He wasn’t even anguished at the sight of them. He was almost a little relieved.
This time he knew they wouldn’t be able to stop him. He wouldn’t stop. He would not. He would—Not.
Z appeared in a brilliant and frantic flash of wings. They glanced around, their radiant eyes wide with alarm. “Hello holy hell,” they said. “What the heavens?”
Crowley scrambled to his feet and pointed at them. “Hello,” he said. “He’s tearing the whole world apart. The whole world. Because you won’t let me go. Are you still certain that’s the right idea?”
“You know honestly I’m not so sure,” Z said, still glancing around with a look of surprise.
“What?” Crowley said, for some reason, because their tone had been impossible to read, like always, and he couldn’t tell if they had really meant it, or if this all meant so little to them that they were going along with a joke. “No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to pretend you’re reasonable after all this time. Every single thing I’ve said to you should have proved to you that I don’t belong here, don’t pretend that doubting this all is something casual that you can just consider now like it’s no big deal to you.”
Z gave him an icy stare. “All right then,” they said. “Would you prefer I stick to my old plan?”
Crowley shrank. Ligur stood up, steadying himself on a still quaking shelf, and said, “Oh, come on, give ‘im a break! He’s been through hell here!”
Z rolled their eyes at him, then gestured around the room. “Look at what you two are doing. Can’t you see this is bad? Can’t you see why I tried to prevent this?”
“So stop it, then,” Crowley said. “Stop time like you stop everything else. If you’re so powerful, then why d’you let me continue to exist? Why not just send me to sleep? You don’t get to act like you’ve given me any sort of freedom, any element of choice, just because you’ve given me two unlivable situations!”
“This—this is beyond time.”
“I don’t care,” Crowley shouted, although he did, because Aziraphale was tearing apart the world and time and all existence for him and that mattered to him very much. “Look at what he’s doing because of you!”
“But I don’t need to stop it,” Z said. “One angel—not even a high ranking one, because you all have invented ranks, haven’t you?—one will not be allowed to destroy everything. The others will all stop him if we let this go on. They’ll notice soon enough.”
“But he won’t stop,” Crowley cried. “Not for good! Not for anything! We don’t do that!”
“You can’t keep trying things forever,” Z said, dismayed. “It’s tearing you apart! You’ll destroy yourselves!”
“This existence is not ourselves.”
“But I’ve told you everything will be okay! If you would only trust me, you—”
“If you would only listen, you’d know that you’re killing us!” Crowley pointed at Ligur, who was standing by the angel, almost protectively, glaring at Z. Crowley said, “Look at him. If you’d listened to him you’d’ve known ages ago that we need to go home. You don’t know what we need, Z. You’re not like us! Maybe we’ll understand you someday, but right now you have all the power over us, but you won’t listen! So we’re ripping ourselves apart, yes, but we’ll do it to the world too, and we won’t stop!”
Z bit their lip, and Crowley wondered where they had learned to do that, when they only had a body for a miniscule fraction of the time.
“He won’t stop,” Crowley said, “until he finds a way in here to get me, or until it kills him—which would make one more angel in here that you have to deal with, and trust me, if you think I’m persistent—” and he gave a fond and manic laugh, “—wait till you meet him.”
Z made a face. “I—suppose—maybe. But he’ll give up eventually.”
Crowley pointed at his angel again. He said, tired but soldiering on, “Look at him.”
Z looked at Aziraphale.
They looked at him and Ligur.
They sighed.
They said, “Fine.”
Crowley’s arm dropped to his side. Ligur ran his hand through Aziraphale’s head, and the angel stopped speaking. The shaking of the world gradually stopped.
Crowley opened his mouth. “Er—what?”
Z just stared at him.
Ligur, who was running his hand back and forth through the angel’s head now, presumably to stop him from undoing all of creation, but also because old habits die hard, said, “I think we’ve won. You can stop showing off how much the angel ‘cares’ about you now.”
Crowley took a few steps backward, away from Z. Z tilted their head and looked at him. There was that curiosity again.
“And you,” they said, gesturing to Ligur. “Your friend. He’s been causing me enough grief, too.”
“Well,” Ligur said, grinning, “he may not kill himself out of grief that I’m gone—”
“That’s not what I meant,” Crowley interjected.
“—but he is,” Ligur continued with a positively evil grin, “going to go through every angel and demon who gets in his way while he’s trying to figure this out.”
Crowley winced. Z looked revolted at the idea.
“That means a whole lot of people are going to die and you’ll have to—”
“Yes, I get it.” Z put a hand to their forehead and groaned. “Shit. Yes. I was—fairly convinced with the angel, but that settles it for good. That demon is a maniac. He’ll fill this place with premature dead demons before I can blink twice.”
“And angels, probably,” Ligur said, airily. “Yeah, he’ll probably start a war over me. And that’ll mean even more for you to deal with, and—”
“All right, all right,” Z snapped. “Fine. You can go back.”
Crowley groaned and ran a hand across his face, trying to comprehend. Aziraphale was clutching at his head now, rocking back and forth. Crowley pointed at Ligur and said, “You, stop that,” then he pointed at Z and said, “And you—” Then he made his expression much more pitiful and said, “Um—how?”
Z sighed. “I’ll think of something. He’s not the only one who remembers the words of creation.”
They stared at them. Z looked disdainful.
“I told you. I’ve been around for a long time. And it doesn’t feel like long ago to me.”
“So—you’re—going to let us go back?” Crowley’s voice was small. He felt so tired, and so scared. Even more scared than he had this entire time. This felt like the endgame, and if he messed this up—
But Z was already stepping towards Ligur. The other demon backed off, baring his teeth like an animal, and Crowley was relieved that he hadn’t been the only one to react to supposedly good news with fear. Messed up, indeed.
Z frowned at him. “What do you think I am going to do? I’ve told you I’ll send you back.”
“Or you’ll knock us out for good,” Ligur growled.
Z gave him a look of concern, their hand still outstretched, then slowly lowered it to their side. They turned to look at Crowley.
Crowley met their eye and tried to hold his ground. “Why—” he said, cursing his curiosity. “Why are you really doing this?”
“Because I’m not sure that I was right.”
Crowley blinked. Ligur stood up, looking less afraid.
Z shrugged. “I told you no one is the knower of all things.”
“But—you really acted like—” Ligur said.
“I am not a villain,” Z said to Crowley. “I told you, I’m no angel or demon.”
They held their hand out to him. Crowley glanced down at Aziraphale. He was still on the ground, leaning on his elbows now, his head in his hands. Crowley winced and looked back up at Z. He took a step forward, slowly, and then nodded.
Z held their hand up towards his forehead. He met their eye right before they touched him. They smiled. “You want to know what I learned most, being more among humans than either of your ‘sides?’” Their smile grew a little crooked. “It’s much more interesting not knowing if you’re right.”
Crowley woke up in a way he never had before, because he hadn’t been asleep. He was standing. He tensed his muscles, throughout his arms and hands, and felt them. He felt good, and he would never have imagined that.
His eyes focused without him even having to try.
He was standing in a field. Across from him stood Aziraphale, looking perplexed as to how he had gotten there.
They met each other’s eye.
“You—” Aziraphale said.
Crowley flexed his fingers and looked back at him, lost for words in spite of all of the promises he had made himself, a little stooped and uncertain in spite of all he had thought he had learned.
But forget the power of words for a moment. He gave his angel a tentative smile.
He was in Aziraphale’s arms in a moment. The angel had run across the grass and collided with him, so hard that both of them fell to the ground. Crowley cherished the feeling of pain in his bones as he hit, the feeling of pressure from Aziraphale’s body, the sound of both of their ringing laughter in his ears.
All too soon, the angel pushed himself up, staring down at him with worried eyes. “Is it over?” he said. “Is it—are you—are we safe? Did I do something to bring you here, somehow, or—”
“Don’t worry,” Crowley laughed, the sound much louder than usual because he was still on his back and he was still getting re-used to things. “It wasn’t you. And—it kind of was.”
“But—”
“And it’s okay. They’re not angry. At least, they’re not going to bring me back. I was supposed to come back.” And he was so, so glad, to do what he was supposed to just this once.
Over Aziraphale’s shoulder, a little further away in the field, which Crowley was beginning to recognize as one of the hills of a strangely empty St. James’ Park, he spotted another two figures. He put his hand on Aziraphale’s chest and gently pushed him over to his other side so that he could lean up on one elbow and watch them.
Hastur and Ligur were standing across from each other as well. Ligur looked like a puppy who had escaped, had a rough night, and finally come home. He looked bedraggled and sheepish. Hastur, standing crouched with his mouth slightly open, looked at him like he might run any moment. It was unclear in which direction.
Ligur spared a glance for Crowley, and where he lay, still almost underneath Aziraphale. He sneered at them, but it was a halfhearted sneer, as though the other half was smiling instead. Only almost. “Couldn’t you two wait a minute?” he said. He sounded softer than usual, his voice a bit husky, like he was unused to it as well. “At least until you’re somewhere private?”
Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley’s shoulder, almost protectively, protective of them, and Crowley almost laughed in pure joy at it all. Ligur was still looking at them. Crowley tilted his head towards Hastur, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of Ligur this entire time.
Ligur gave Crowley an ‘Oh, well all right’ look, and turned to Hastur. “Well, Hastur,” he said, his voice both gruff and soft. “Happy to see me? Even a little?”
Hastur opened his mouth wider, there was a grating sound, and then he said, strangled, “I’m not happy.”
Ligur looked disappointed, almost hurt.
Hastur broke out of his frozen state at last and held out a hand to him. “No,” he said. “That’s just—not it.”
“Hmm,” Ligur said. “Not what.”
Hastur curled the fingers of his outstretched hand into a fist, then took a few steps towards the other demon. He said, his voice low, “How could I be happy—after all of this? Even if it’s over. It—it is over?”
Ligur nodded. Hastur looked relieved. Ligur dared a smile.
Crowley was drawn away from the strange new drama in which he had never meant to become this invested by Aziraphale’s hand tapping on his arm. He turned and looked at him, and he was far too close—but only for a second, and then the angel smiled and stood up. He held down a hand to him, and Crowley took it. The angel pulled him to his feet.
The two stood, looking almost-but-not-quite at each other’s faces, and dithered. It was almost a relief. If they hadn’t both been absolutely petrified, it wouldn’t have felt, after all this nightmare, like them. Wouldn’t have felt real. But they didn’t have to be entirely useless.
Crowley smiled at Aziraphale. He let himself smile the way he really wanted to.
Aziraphale smiled back, nervous and overjoyed, and stuttered, “I could only think—there was so much we hadn’t done—so much wasted opportunity—so much more we should have—”
Crowley held up his hand, and said, “I know.” And he gently touched Aziraphale’s mouth. The angel smiled under his fingers, and then, they did. They really Knew.
The demons were slowly eliminating the gap between themselves. Hastur was a mere five feet away from Ligur now.
“All I know,” Hastur said, “is that I’d rather you not be gone.” He grimaced. “Which is more than I typically care to care for anything.”
Ligur smiled and said, “Or anyone?”
“Don’t.”
Hastur looked pained. Ligur took a few steps forward and patted him on the shoulder—it was more of a whack than a comforting touch, but it was more physical endearment than either of them had ever shown anybody—and said, “Chin up. We’ll get through this disgustingness as best we can.”
The four of them took a few moments, just sort of standing there silently, with each other, awkward and happy and perfect. Crowley looked around at the world. There were so many details. So many blades of grass and shadows. So many colors. It was almost overwhelming.
Aziraphale had his arm around his waist, holding him close, keeping him there.
Crowley could sense that it was time for them all to go. He almost didn’t, and Ligur almost didn’t too, but they did, in the end, turn back towards each other.
“You two are really horrible,” Crowley called out to him and Hastur. “I hope we never see either of you again.”
“And I like torturing people,” Ligur said. “Including myself. So I’m sure that won’t be the case.”
Crowley grimaced.
“’Sides. ‘Never’ is a very long time,” Ligur said with a smirk. “As we know.”
“Ugh.”
The demon saluted him, an odd gesture that Crowley would have fixated on in his ever-questioning mind for days after, had he not had very many other things distracting him, and then Ligur and Hastur turned and left. After a few more minutes, people started to drizzle into the park, as though it were any ordinary day. Humans reclaiming their land.
Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, who was less than one foot away and not close enough, and breathed in. “All right,” he said.
“All right,” Aziraphale said, his voice warm and his eyes—something no word was powerful enough to describe.
Crowley grinned. “So—” he said. “What’s next?”