Chapter Text
Aziraphale was not surprised to see Michael and Gabriel again, but that it was so soon. It was two years after Adam stopped Armageddon, and he thought Heaven would need much more time to get over the embarrassment of their failure to go through with the Great Plan before they returned to earth.
Aziraphale had been listening to a record of Fiddler on the Roof as he reorganized his bookshelves when he sensed a presence. The shop was closed and there was a power in the air, so he knew it wasn’t human. Another second passed and he knew it was angels. Sensing his own kind was easy. His first reaction was annoyance. Really now, he was having a nice afternoon and was in no mood for any disturbances. 6,000 years of duty meant he was entitled to more than a couple years of holiday, no?
“How did you do it?” the feminine voice came sharply.
Aziraphale recognized the voice right away. He looked at the bookshelf, sighed deeply, braced himself, and turned around.
Michael and Gabriel were dressed impeccably as always, but now they didn’t even bother with professional politeness. They were angry.
“I don’t recall inviting you in here,” Aziraphale said, partly to irritate them, and partly because he was getting nervous despite everything. A lifetime of fearing them had been greatly diminished, but not eradicated in two years. If they were talking about what he thought they were talking about, then the conversation could get dangerous, too.
Michael’s smile was more of a grimace. “Look who’s learned to talk back.”
Aziraphale folded his hands behind his back so he didn’t fiddle with them.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Gabriel said. “How did you survive the hellfire?”
An anxious tingle slithered around his chest. “It’s taken you two years to ask that?” He was stalling. As much as he anticipated this conversation occurring one day, he hadn’t prepared very well.
The corner of Gabriel’s mouth twitched. “Tell us. We want the information. It can prove useful to us.”
“Useful?”
“Against Hell,” Michael said impatiently. “If we could figure out how to survive hellfire, then the war will be ours.”
“You’re still going to pursue a war? If God wanted Armageddon to happen, it would have.”
“Don’t lecture us, Principality,” Michael smiled icily. “Give us the information and we’ll go away quietly.”
Aziraphale’s mind raced for a lie to tell. “But what about Crowley? Don’t you think Hell would ask him how he survived holy water, and they would utilize that? You would be back to square one.”
“Demons don’t help each other,” Gabriel said, “so we don’t expect Crowley to give them that information.”
If Crowley really were immune to holy water, he certainly wouldn’t tell Hell about it, so that was reasonable. He was just as uninterested in his former side as Aziraphale was lately. Over the past two years, neither received any contact or assignments, and they lived their lives as closely to the way humans did. Well, besides regularly eating, sleeping, and using the loo. Aziraphale loved eating, but digestion was quite a tedious and sometimes unpleasant process, so he often miracled the food out of him after some time. Their lives were nice and comfortable, and Aziraphale sincerely hoped it wasn’t all about to come to an end. He had to play his cards right.
“And you thought I would want to help you?” Aziraphale asked with a lift of an eyebrow.
Gabriel gave him a look. “Duh. You’re still an angel at the end of the day.” He was annoyed by the fact. “Still somehow not Fallen. You’re in God’s favor, so you must want to help Her cause.”
“Her cause and your cause are not the same,” Aziraphale said confidently. “I believe we established this two years ago.” It took him so long to realize this, that Heaven didn’t know what God truly planned any more than Hell did, nor was their will inherently good and just. Now that he was sure of this, however, he would not go back. He loved Her, and that was what mattered. He just wanted to read books, eat fine cuisine, perform a few miracles here and there to brighten people’s day, and spend time with Crowley. Was that too much to ask? He didn’t think so.
Gabriel’s glare deepened. “Come on, Aziraphale. Be reasonable. The war will happen one day. If we win, we won’t torture you for eternity like Hell would. It’s in your best interest to help us.”
Aziraphale had no confidence Heaven wouldn’t torment him after his attempted murder. They lost his trust permanently. “Sorry,” he smiled, “but no.”
Gabriel groaned with a roll of his eyes. “Come on!”
“I’d like to get back to my books, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Michael eyed him carefully. “Unless...it was a lie?”
His face fell. “What?”
Reacting to his expression, Michael’s eyes widened. “Oh...wouldn’t it be so funny if you weren’t actually immune to hellfire?” they asked slowly, as if coming to the realization as each word left their lips.
Aziraphale’s heart beat faster. No, he couldn’t falter. He couldn’t let them see the terror creeping down his spine. That would be bad. Very bad. If they knew the truth, they would kill him for real, and worse, they might realize Crowley was lying, too. “I assure you hellfire can do no harm to me,” he lied. “How else would I still be here?”
“But that’s why we’re here,” they said. “We’ve thought about it endlessly and can’t figure it out. No angel ever survived before you. At this point, it’s more believable that you tricked us somehow.”
“Yes,” Gabriel said, standing up straighter. “Perhaps Michael’s right,” he said slowly, brow furrowing. “Maybe you really would be stupid enough to lie to archangels. You are a traitor.”
Waltzing in an out of Hell had required a poker face, and Aziraphale was using it to the best of his ability now. Oh Lord, no. He had to think! What was a good lie? “My—my time on earth has affected me in such a way that sets me apart from all other angels,” he said. “I’ve been down here longer than anyone, except Crowley. That’s how he survived, too,” he threw in for good measure, because now he was really getting fearful for Crowley’s safety, too. If they discovered Aziraphale lied, then they would naturally conclude Crowley was vulnerable to holy water and would let Hell know right away. If he put him in danger because of a blunder in this conversation, he would never forgive himself. He loved Crowley more than he could possibly say, even if it remained a well-guarded secret. Now that they were free, he kept meaning to get around to hinting that perhaps they could be something more than friends, but he—what was the expression?—chickened out each time. He wasn’t afraid of being punished anymore (at least not until this very moment), but the possibility that Crowley would reject him rendered him paralyzed. Too many doubts, too much asking what if I read 1967 wrong? or what if I read 1941 wrong? This freedom to spend time with Crowley was still new and fragile. If he ruined it because of his ridiculous feelings, that would be his greatest regret.
“But being on earth shouldn’t change your essence,” Michael said, puzzled. “That loophole would have been discovered by now. The Almighty never told us living on earth could make us indestructible.”
Of course, they were right. “Erm.” Think! What else differentiated him from all other angels? His collar felt tight, but he resisted pulling on it. He wished he could have Crowley’s sunglasses to cover his eyes because he had no idea if his face looked as uneasy as he felt. Wait, that was it. “Crowley,” he said with a smile. “My relationship with Crowley.”
Gabriel and Michael looked at each other.
“...Yeah?” Gabriel prompted.
Ah. Right. He needed more than that. Bugger. “Well, you see, we have a special bond and have so for millennia.” He gulped. “We have shared experiences which…” Think! “...which have combined parts of our souls. Over a long period of time. That’s how we did it. His, er, his demonic part in me protected me from hellfire.”
They still looked confused, but slightly less so.
“Is that possible?” Michael asked Gabriel.
“You wouldn’t know,” Aziraphale said, “because no angel and demon have been so close or spent as much time together as we have.” This was good; no one in Heaven or Hell could disprove his fake explanation since they were unique. He was immensely satisfied with himself.
A pause.
“That’s...true,” Gabriel said begrudgingly. “But I still don’t get how being in the same room at various points over a long period of time would mix your essences. We’ve interacted with demons, too.”
Darn it. “Um.”
“When you say ‘close,’” Michael narrowed their eyes, “how close is that?”
“Ah,” Gabriel grinned, “that’s it—physical contact! That would make more sense.”
“It would?” he asked foolishly. “Um, I mean, of course!”
But then Gabriel’s stupid triumph over sopposedly figuring it out diminished as disgust contorted his features. “Ew, you’ve touched that demon?”
“You sound as if he’s gum on the bottom of your shoe,” Aziraphale said, feeling defensive.
“Well, yeah!” Gabriel snorted. “He’s a creature of Hell. You would sully your celestial temple with that vile thing?”
“He’s not vile in the least,” Aziraphale lifted his chin, shooting daggers at him.
Michael was suspicious. “You defend him quite readily.”
“Of course I do. Our bond is 6,000 years strong, so I care for his honor very much.” He pictured Crowley sniggering at the thought of an angel defending his honor.
“Just how much do you touch him?” Michael asked slowly and with mounting horror.
Their tone was not lost on Aziraphale. Oh, goodness. Did they think there was intimacy involved? Oh dear, oh dear. Heat crawled up his collar. “We…”
“Good Lord,” they gasped. “He’s blushing!”
He blushed harder. “I…”
Gabriel winced, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “No, really? You,” he squinted, “made an Effort?”
Yes, he had, but never used it on Crowley. He couldn’t even work up the nerve to hold his hand! But an idea struck him. If he played along and pretended he and Crowley shared sexual relations, then they might buy that as the explanation for their switcheroo. The idea would surely be enough to rattle them and send them away, yes? The lie would be worth saving him and Crowley, and word about their relationship would most likely reach Hell, too. They could truly be left alone. Surely Crowley would understand the need for this lie in such a dire situation. He couldn’t be blamed for saving their lives. He never imagined being in this situation, but God’s plan was crazy as it was unpredictable.
“Crowley and I regularly engage in sexual intercourse,” Aziraphale blurted out, face burning as if there were actually hellfire in the room.
Gabriel’s jaw dropped and Michael put a hand over their mouth.
Aziraphale had never seen them so completely astonished and repulsed. He was squeezing his hands behind his back. He was sweating onto his dress shirt, which almost never happened. He would have to get it dry cleaned. He was used to feeling embarrassed around them, but this was something else entirely.
Gabriel’s lip curled unpleasantly. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“Angels and demons can’t do that!” he protested. “You’d, I don’t know, explode!”
“Have you ever tried it?” Aziraphale asked primly, trying not to die of mortification.
They both made a gagging sound.
“Heavens, no!” Michael put their hand on their chest. “Oh, God, how are you not Fallen?”
“That’s up to the Almighty,” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps it has something to do with our spiritual bond as well.”
“Spiritual?”
He was letting his feelings emerge. “It’s love, you see.”
That appeared to offend the two of them more than the sex. They looked at him like he just pissed on a bible and threw it in a dumpster.
“You have to be lying,” Gabriel said sternly. “Demons are incapable of love.”
It hurt, because it was something Aziraphale sometimes thought, but at the moment, it was a sign his lie was falling apart. “I assure you this particular demon is quite capable,” he gave them a bright, nervous grin. “We’re in love. Completely giddy with it, in fact.” The lie was making him ache now. “He told me he loved me as soon as we averted the apocalypse. We had sex that night and survived your tests the next day. We’re in a romantic relationship.” How he wished that had been the case! Since that night, he imagined what it would have been like if they went back to Crowley’s flat and actually shared a bed instead of sitting up all night restlessly. He imagined Crowley smiling, genuine and happy and not his usual snarky smirk, gazing at him with uncovered eyes and saying, “angel, I love you” over dinner. What would Crowley be like, giddy and in love? He would probably be beautiful.
Silence.
He was sweating profusely.
“Prove it,” Michael said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Prove it,” they crossed their arms. “You’re really with a demon and not lying to our faces? Prove it.”
“W-what, do you want us to, goodness, have sex in front—?“
“No!” they cut him off. “Lord in Heaven, no. We’ll watch you two from afar. Your relationship. See what you do and how you act outside of the bedroom. If you’re lying and not really with Crowley but, yuck, kiss him, surely he’ll attack you. He’s a demon.”
“Good idea,” Gabriel nodded. “We need proof. I’m starting to doubt it’s possible. If you’re lying, I’m sure we could get our new associate to bring back the fire,” he smirked. “Or maybe Crowley would do it for us. I mean, come on, he can’t actually want you. I’m starting to look forward to watching him attack you.”
Aziraphale knew Crowley would never hurt him, but the idea that he was going to be rejected in front of two archangels filled him with dread.“A-And if you see I’m telling you the truth?”
“Then we can’t kill you,” Gabriel shrugged. “Keep up, moron.”
Aziraphale hated them. “Right. When do you want me to prove our relationship to you?”
“That’ll be for us to decide.” Gabriel lifted his hand. “We’ll be watching.” He snapped his fingers. They were gone.
Aziraphale allowed his legs to shake and he sunk to the ground against a bookcase, putting his burning face into his hands. What had he done? He couldn’t believe he just did that! He told two archangels he was buggering a demon! He lost his mind! His heart was aching and pounding too hard and fast. The lie worked for now, but he wasn’t in a relationship with Crowley. They never even hugged. Sure, they spent more time together and Crowley smiled more, but that was it. Aziraphale was too overwhelmed by how much he loved him to take a risk. Two years were nothing compared to millennia of being afraid to feel anything but hatred for him. It took him until 1941 to even admit to himself that he was in love with Crowley, and until 2019 to realize that was okay. Making a move required another decade, at least. He had been hoping Crowley would be the brave one, as he tended to be, and make a move, but it hadn’t happened. This was where Aziraphale began to fear it was all one-sided after all.
But now they had to pretend. Their lives were at stake. Aziraphale lifted his head, staring up at the ceiling. He was such a fool. He backed himself into a corner. Worst case scenario: Crowley would loathe the thought of being with him and Aziraphale would experience crushing heartbreak in the moments before the archangels murdered him with hellfire. Best case scenario...No. Don’t get your hopes up.
He felt like his heart was going to give out when he knocked on Crowley’s door. This was not going to be a fun conversation. What if Crowley refused? What if he made it painfully clear how he could and would never, under any circumstance, even ponder loving someone like Aziraphale? What if he was just as disgusted by the thought of them making love as the archangels were? What if their relationship would never recover from this, after 6,000 years of hardship? Oh, dear oh dear oh dear. If only he hadn’t opened his big, stupid mouth, but he truly had no idea how else to get them to leave. Perhaps he could have thought of something else if his mind did not frequently wander to daydreams of Crowley loving him. Goodness, he was a mess since 1941. He wasn’t made to love a singular being as much as this. To this day, it was something he could hardly handle. He had to bottle everything up, because denying his emotions an outlet was much easier than considering nuzzling kisses into Crowley’s neck.
He was getting carried away. Again. This always happened. He had to stop, because he was not in the privacy of his home and could not pleasure himself.
Crowley opened the door. His hair was sticking up in one direction, a baggy T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, and his long legs were bare. He was wearing boxers and his sunglasses were crooked on his face, like he had stumbled out of bed and threw them on before opening the door. Oh. That was what happened, wasn’t it? That would explain his rumpled appearance. He was the most disheveled Aziraphale had ever seen him. He was sinfully endearing. Aziraphale had to quell the impulse to smooth down his unruly hair.
“Angel?” he asked with obvious confusion. He straightened his glasses on his face. “Um.” He miracled sweatpants on. “What’re you doing here?”
Aziraphale sighed. “I must come in for a dreadfully important conversation. I was visited by Gabriel and Michael.”
His posture immediately turned rigid. “Come in.”
They sat down on the couch in Crowley’s sparse sitting room.
“Want anything to drink?”
“No thank you,” Aziraphale said. He didn’t want to let any of his true feelings loose with a tipsy slip of the tongue. It never happened before, but he was on edge. He actually had to change his shirt and apply more cologne before he left because he was sweating so much. He hadn’t been so hot since he lived in the Middle East. He cleared his throat. “They came to the bookshop. They wanted to know how I survived hellfire so they could utilize the method in the eventual war against Hell.”
“What did you tell them?” he asked, his full attention on Aziraphale.
His tongue felt too big for his mouth. He swallowed. “W-well, I didn’t know what to say at first. I was taken off guard, you see. I had been listening to music and reorganizing my books when they came. I thought it would have taken longe—”
“Aziraphale,” Crowley cut in, “what happened next?”
Hearing his name, and not just an epithet, from Crowley’s lips always made butterflies flutter in his stomach. “Yes, um. I said we’re different from every other angel and demon because we’ve been on earth so long. You came up in the conversation.”
“Yeah?” Crowley sat forward, his bent elbows on his knees.
“They were suspicious.” He usually wished he could see Crowley’s eyes, but was thankful for the glasses this time. Aziraphale knew he wouldn’t be able to handle his intense, golden, unblinking gaze at this moment. “They didn't believe simply being on earth was enough to change our essences. I said our b-bond has exchanged parts of our souls.”
Crowley snickered. “So, a little of me is in a little of you and vice versa because we’re such good friends? And they bought that?”
Aziraphale winced. “Not exactly.” Oh Lord. “Michael, you see, got the wrong idea and...thought we’re closer than we really are.”
“How so?” he cocked an eyebrow above the glasses.
Aziraphale wanted to discorporate. “ Quite close. I—they were starting to figure out it was a lie,” he preemptively explained nervously, “so I had to resort to desperate measures. They would kill me and you, if they knew it was nothing but a stunt. You know that.”
“Well, you’re here, so you must’ve fooled them. Spit it out.”
Aziraphale looked at the sleek coffee table in front of the sofa. His cheeks were hot again. Terribly inconvenient, these biological reactions.
“Uh, you okay?” Crowley asked.
Great, his blush was noticeable. “I said our souls mixed because you and I are in a romantic and sexual relationship.”
Crowley choked on air and started coughing.
Shame poured into his veins, his blush draining from his face. It felt like a brick dropped into his stomach.
“Auh-fuh-mmmf, you said what? ” Crowley squawked.
Aziraphale shook his head. “Don’t make me repeat it,” he whispered. He glanced at him from out of the corner of his eye.
Crowley looked like a cartoon character with his jaw on the floor. Scarlet glowed on the tips of his ears. His lower lip wobbled. “Whuh...nugh...what made you think of that?” he asked, dumbfounded.
I’m desperately in love with you. “It...it was something they couldn’t prove to be false. Gaining immunity to hellfire in that way, I mean.” That should be a good cover story. It was the truth, just not the entire truth. “That’s all. No other reason.” He always did chatter too much when anxious.
Crowley visibly tensed. “...Oh.”
Aziraphale was unnerved by his tone. He fixed his bow tie, although it wasn’t anywhere near crooked. “I’m terribly sorry, but I couldn’t think of anything else to save us.”
Crowley turned his face away, looking at the turned off television across the room. “It’s okay,” he mumbled. “You had to do what you had to do.”
Aziraphale couldn’t read him. Crowley wasn’t angry or disgusted, which was good, but he wasn’t casual and joking, either. “The story isn’t finished.”
“It’s not?”
“No. They want me to prove I’m not lying.”
A small, barely audibly intake of breath. “How would you do that?” Crowley looked at him. His sunglasses slid down a little, his eyebrows and the very tops of his golden eyes visible.
Aziraphale wished he could command his pulse to stop hammering in his neck this instant. He reluctantly met the dark lenses. “By pretending as if we’re in a relationship so they could watch from afar and see for themselves. They believe—” you’re incapable of love “—you would harm me if I made an unwanted advance toward you. So, they assume that if I’m lying, your reaction would tip them off.”
Crowley nodded slowly. His hands were gripping the edge of the leather couch cushion tight enough to leave crescent-shaped fingernail marks in the material.
Aziraphale was disappointed by how visibly uncomfortable this idea made Crowley. He shouldn’t have expected any different, but that did not soften the blow. The love of an angel was strong, and yet it was unrequited. How pitiful. Aziraphale had to keep pretending this was all a ridiculous plan. If he didn’t reveal how he desired this all to be true, then there may be hope for them yet. “I’m sorry, again,” he said to the floor. “But if they are to believe we’re indestructible, they must be convinced we’re an—an item.”
Crowley was still as stone beside him. His ears were cherry-red. “So...if we pretend we’re in a relationship, we’ll be safe.”
“I believe so.”
“And that would, that would involve, what?” he spoke hesitantly, softly. “Holding your hand, telling you that you mean a lot to me, kissing you for them to see?”
Two great hands were constricting Aziraphale’s lungs. He fought back an undignified wheeze. “Yes, I think so.”
“I can do that,” he croaked.
Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows. That was unexpectedly easy.
“Don’t make it a big deal,” he snapped. “Just. You know. The dumb mushy stuff won’t be bad if it means we’ll live.”
Aziraphale hadn’t even the time to form hope before it was snuffed out like a candle. “Quite right,” he mumbled. He hated himself for being sad over Crowley’s disdain for “mushy” stuff, because not only should that have been given, but Aziraphale was older than time. It was immature and ridiculous of him to want to be kissed and held and be the object of affection. He really wanted to go home and curl up in his rarely-used bed and stay there until the pain went away. “You agree to pretend for the time being, then?”
He reclined on the sofa. “I don’t fancy dying after all we’ve been through,” he shrugged. “Are they watching us now?”
“No, I don’t think so. They don’t want to catch us, ah, in the moment.”
Crowley pressed his lips together and nodded. His ears were still red. Aziraphale couldn’t recall him blushing in 6,000 years, not even from inebriation. He pushed his glasses up higher. “They must’ve been shocked, eh? An angel with a demon, sullying himself with the Damned?”
Aziraphale didn’t think Crowley could “sully” him. Saying so would be revealing, so he kept that bit to himself. “Extremely, before they got suspicious.”
“Would’ve liked to see the looks on their faces.” His smirk was uncharacteristically hollow.
Aziraphale grinned with the same lack of vigor. “Yes, I suppose it was rather humorous upon reflection. They can’t even understand eating, let alone relationships.”
“Especially not with a demon.”
“No.”
Crowley stretched an arm over the back of the couch. “My lot understands it even less. I mean. Angels are still supposed to love, in theory, but I don’t think those bastard archangels can love anything other than themselves.”
“I suppose not,” Aziraphale considered it. “I hadn’t thought of it before.” Talking explicitly about love troubled him.
“But demons,” he went on, “we’re not even supposed to. It’s not in our DNA. Or, supernatural equivalent of DNA. What’s ‘DNA’ stand for again?” he asked.
His heart sank more with each word uttered by Crowley. Love wasn’t in his DNA. But, he certainly cared for Aziraphale, right? He knew he did. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, throat tight.
“The point is, you must’ve rocked their world. I’m impressed. You always were a quick-thinking bastard, despite getting locked up for bloody crepes.”
He laughed despite himself. “Yes, well, I have my moments.”
“That you do.” His smirk faded. “So, uh, how are we supposed to go about this?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to show affection in public places.”
“Like at dinner?”
“Could be.”
“Are we to assume they’re just gonna watch us like creeps and have to be on our toes every time we leave this flat, or the bookshop?”
“Yes.”
Crowley’s face was unreadable behind the glasses. “Welp. Guess we gotta go on a date then? Get them off our trail as soon as possible.”
“I guess we do.” Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel disheartened at how Crowley wanted to get this done and over with.
“I’ll pick you up for dinner tomorrow at 5? I’ll make it look real proper. I’ll even bring flowers.”
Aziraphale ordered his skin to stop turning pink. “Sounds like a plan.” He would have to walk a fine line in between showing enough fondness for Crowley to be convincing, but not enough to be revealing. That was certainly going to be difficult.
EDIT: alternative cover by kavaimika:
