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The light in the elevator brightened with a purity that was overwhelming.
The starch white holiness was stifling, and though the alarm bells that immediately began going off in the angel's head were to perhaps be of the concerning variety, Aziraphale tried to focus instead on the rightness of what he was doing. This was the right thing, he was sure.
'Sure'. What an inane and ridiculous concept. What was there to be sure of in this moment? He had learned over and over again in his thousands of years of existence, that there were few things to be sure of, and the things he HAD been sure of, became things he suddenly WASN'T so sure of when presented with certain moral ambiguities. The case of Job being just one of the several examples.
No, he wasn't sure of much anything these days. But that wasn't entirely true or accurate, because he WAS sure of great many things.
He was sure that he loved sushi, and many exotic foods and drinks he'd had the pleasure of trying across the centuries. He was sure there was nothing more satisfying than having a lovely night beside a controlled fire inside a delightful human contraption known as a 'fireplace' with a good first edition novel he lovingly spent hours preserving.
He was also sure that there was no company he greater enjoyed than that of one grumpy demon with whom he could ramble to about everything and nothing whenever he so pleased. Aziraphale was sure that he found no greater pleasure than listening to his lovely ill-tempered companion ranting on about things that annoyed him or ridiculous demons that had bothered him that day, or some new way humans had found to inconvenience themselves. He was sure of the delight that would fill him when the demon would do something kind or thoughtful for him and then wave him off with an annoyed huff whenever Aziraphale would express his thanks.
It was no longer any kind of divinity that Aziraphale was sure of. It hadn't been for a long time, so when the Metatron gave him the offer, one that Aziraphale had not expected to receive for all eternity, there had been a moment of elation. The sheer honor of being given this opportunity to make things right, to take the holiness he once so full-heartedly believed in and the chance to restore his faith back to its former glory, it was a wonderful feeling. Hope.
But then it had passed, as he had been excitedly rambling like he so often did to his favorite being, but for once Crowley had not looked at him with fake scorn or vague interest. Crowley had looked angry and frighteningly vulnerable in a way he never was.
No, Aziraphale was not sure of this. In fact, all the things he was 'sure' about were all tied to Earth now.
So what was he 'sure' of in this moment? As the lights grew so bright he couldn't see, and the elevator continued its ascent up to the place that had tried to smite his entire existence, he reflected on these things. He certainly hadn't had the peace of mind to do so after the shock of the offer, the shock of seeing Gabriel find love in the most unexpected of places, the shock of...of the kiss.
He was sure about the lump in his throat, the sweat beading at his temple, the tears he so rarely shed building behind his eyes trying to escape again. He kept the smile on his face, but the only emotion he felt was panic.
What was he doing? What could ever be right about going back up to heaven for the rest of his days? How could he leave his book shop in the hands of that poor angel that was clearly in over their head? Muriel was so sweet, a very lovely being indeed, but they were hopeless when it came to any matters human-related. How could they possibly be left as sole proprietor of his wonderful little shop? What if Muriel sold his books? What if they destroyed the place because they don’t know how to operate simple human inventions?
The memory of his book shop in flames, it was something he couldn't bear to even think about. What if it happened again? Crowley certainly wouldn't be there to do damage control, he probably wouldn't even want to now.
Oh, Crowley...
The lights became too bright for Aziraphale's eyes, and he clenched them shut as tightly as he could.
Not only what was he doing, but what had he done?
Crowley had kissed him, kissed him! And Aziraphale had what, forgiven him and then run away?
He was leaving behind the one being he trusted entirely, the most perfectly frustrating creation he felt so many entirely human and vulnerable things for, who had basically confessed his true feelings for the first time ever, and Aziraphale had handled it terribly.
That bloody ridiculous demon. How could he have thought that a good time to kiss Aziraphale for the first time?
Aziraphale had been crying, frustrated and helpless and lost, and perhaps Crowley had felt the same way. As soon as his sunglasses went back on, Aziraphale could tell his walls were closing back up tightly. Then he'd had the absolute gall, the NERVE to call Aziraphale an idiot! How dare he!
But...but perhaps Aziraphale truly was an idiot. He felt miserable, and conflicted, and everything was happening so fast he couldn't...he couldn't possibly do this. That feeling of being overwhelmed, of the bright lights and the holy light shining down on him like a spotlight, he needed to get away, and yet as soon as he takes his first steps into Heaven again, he would be tied to that place once more.
And maybe it wouldn't be so bad, maybe it would be ok and he could be happy, but he would never truly feel those things without Crowley by his side.
He was sure of that.
He cleared his throat, hesitantly probing, "Metatron...?"
Aziraphale couldn't even see the supreme divinity next to him anymore, the light of heaven too close and stifling to focus on anything but the panic within him.
A questioning hum sounded from his left.
"I think that...perhaps...I've made great haste in this decision."
There was a pause of silence instead of an immediate verbal response. They were nearly there now, and never had this trip felt so long and terrifying.
"Great haste. And you mean this how?" The Metatron had not seemed an unreasonable being, thus far at least. No, he had even seemed kind, as a being of his station really should be, not that it was a guarantee as had been proven to Aziraphale time and time again. That didn't mean he wasn't still terrifying in his own soft way, knowing the power he held.
"Well, this offer was entirely unprecedented, at least to me. And it would...well, perhaps it would be in the greatest interest of all beings involved if I were to have...a bit of time to consider it all."
The Metatron said nothing once more, so Aziraphale thought it wise to continue.
"Much has happened in the last 24 hours you see, and though the honor of this offer is not lost on me and I am greatly appreciative of it, yes, of course, I only inquire as to whether or not it may be possible for me to reflect on all that is holy and prepare myself for the strenuous demands of such a position for the greater good of the second coming...is all..."
Aziraphale trailed off near the end, uncertainty tainting what had started as confidence and reducing it to a soft mutter.
A laugh sounded next to him, something gentle and amused, yet dangerous. There was something about him that set Aziraphale at unease, perhaps only the knowledge of his power, or perhaps something more, a strange sense of sorts.
"You could take all the time in the universe, and still not be 'ready' for the demands of righteousness dear Aziraphale. But yes, if you so wish it, I will grant you pardon for six days, but instead of rest on the seventh, you will report for the first day as Supreme Archangel." Aziraphale sensed movement next to him, as if the Metatron was making a gesture with his hands, and then the elevator began moving downwards. A nearly audible sigh of relief left him, but he refused to let it escape until he was breathing fresh air.
An elbow suddenly knocked him in the ribs, and he let out the rush of air anyway as it was forced out of him. "See what I did there? with the seven?" Aziraphale let out a forced hoarse laugh, still breathless, a hand coming up to gently massage at the spot. "Oh yes, very clever indeed. Thank you." He hoped he sounded convincing.
In a journey that felt much faster going down than it had up, the elevator made contact with the ground once again, and Aziraphale tried not to immediately rush out in a panic.
He turned towards the Metatron, offering him a cordial smile and awkward nod of the head, before then making his escape in a calm (fidgety) fashion. As he began to walk in the direction of his book shop, he heard the voice of the Metatron behind him.
"For just as through the disobedience of the one man the many were made sinners, so also through the obedience of one man the many will be made righteous."
A shiver traveled over Aziraphale's spine as he turned to look over his shoulder at the Metatron. "Praise be!"
He hurried, then, back into the safety of his shop and shut the doors quickly. Crowley's car had been no where in sight on the walk back, and Aziraphale felt cold knowing he had gone. The sight he was met with now inside was one that both filled him with affection, and made his stomach drop.
His shop, his lovely little book shop, was just as he left it. 'Just', meaning also that the sight of where he had only just stood mere minutes before, having that confrontation with Crowley that ended with him being kissed by the demon, welled up too many emotions within him to count, and it was there that he finally let the tears run unbidden down his face.
"Oh Crowley..." Aziraphale sobbed, "What have I done?"
His hands raised shakily to his face, and he covered his eyes with them, ashamed at what he had said to the demon, of the future he had so readily imagined for them so suddenly at the offer, painfully ignoring all that made that idea nothing but fantasy.
Of course Crowley wouldn't want to go to Heaven. He despised the place, despised all that was holy, really, all beside Aziraphale.
How had he been so obtuse, so ridiculous as to think that could ever be something Crowley would want? Perhaps, he had thought selfishly that Crowley would do it for him. That maybe Crowley would suddenly see the err of his ways and want to run away to Heaven with Aziraphale, but it was a ridiculous notion.
There would always be things they would not agree on, it had been the basis of nearly all their interactions over the thousands of years, and yet, they somehow seemed to agree on as much as they disagreed in their own ways.
There was 'good' and there was 'evil' and there was 'them', how had Aziraphale even for a moment forgotten that? Even when just the two of them, here, with Crowley begging him to see that, could Aziraphale have denied such things?
They had saved the world by being on their own side, had saved all of humanity and all of the beautiful imperfections that came with humans and the Earth, and yet the tempting taste of righteous power and the idea of being able to set Heaven right had blinded Aziraphale for a few moments of all that really mattered to him. The idea of what could be, of a reality that he may want, but Crowley obviously didn't, had hurt him deeply when he wasn't met with the same level of enthusiasm. But it was selfish for him to ask so much from Crowley when he should have known they would not see eye to eye on this.
He pried his hands from his face slightly, dragging them down just enough to gaze blearily at his shop once again. Muriel was nowhere in sight, almighty knows where they had gone, and Aziraphale was left with this hollow feeling in his chest as all that had transpired truly weighed on him.
Crowley was right, he was an idiot, and he had no idea how to set things right.
He had to talk to Crowley, yes, that was the only thing he could possibly do to fix any of this, and yet he was scared.
Not to admit that he was wrong, but to face the demon knowing he had hurt him so greatly, and to see that forced stoic expression on his face again. He never wanted that steely hurt glare to be directed towards him again. Not from Crowley, the man he...cared so deeply for. It was greater than that, he knew, and yet the true extent of his emotions toward the demon were still too scary for Aziraphale to fully recognize and admit. He had already recognized it anyway, it was the admitting part he was struggling with.
Aziraphale might be dramatic at times, but he truly felt as though he would rather die than not have Crowley with him anymore. Having Crowley angry with him, oh, what a truly dreadful thing indeed.
So he would talk to Crowley. He had to, no matter how much it hurt to face the consequences of his own actions. He had to talk to Crowley now.
With his mind made up, Aziraphale turned and rushed out of his shop, locking it with a wave of his hand, and set off in the direction of the demon's flat.
~
Upon arrival at the demon's door, Aziraphale faltered in his step.
He had made the walk with such purpose, a sudden steely resolve that yes, this was the right thing to do. But he was so full of contradictions and unsure of so much as of late, Aziraphale was left as nothing but a mess of insecurities and confusion. What could he possibly know of 'right' these days? When it seemed he did so much wrong?
The guilt was eating him alive, pecking at him as if he were already a thing festering in hell. The list of what he was sure of popped back up in his mind, and it comforted him that Crowley was indeed one of the few things on that list.
He could have miracled himself to the demon's door, could even miracle himself inside, he wasn't even sure if Crowley was here, and yet something within him made the angel almost sure that this is exactly where the demon was. It felt wrong to use his divinity right now, like he was cheating in some way, or doing something shameful, which should have felt absurd, but not right now.
He wrung his hands together nervously, shifting from one foot to the other before raising a delicate fist and knocking gently.
The door didn't open for several long moments, so he raised his hand to knock again, now starting to dread a reality in which Crowley refused to speak to him. Before his knuckle could come into contact with the door however, it was ripped open.
Aziraphale gazed at the dark sleek view of Crowley's sunglasses as the demon propped up an arm against the doorframe without a care in the world. Oh how Aziraphale wished he could look into his eyes instead of the dark nothingness of his sunglasses right now. He couldn't hope to parse what the demon was feeling through the rigidness of what now hid his eyes. Though that was the point of them after all.
His hand was still raised, and he dropped it sheepishly, mouth opening to say something, anything to convey all the confusing and painful emotions swirling around within him, yet nothing came out.
Crowley looked unimpressed to see him, and that hurt most of all. He didn't look relieved, or happy, just blank, exactly as he had feared the demon would look at him. He nearly couldn't bear it.
The silence extended between them, before it was finally broken by the flame haired demon.
"Aziraphale."
The sound of his name, not "angel" or something similarly fond or at least familiar, broke that last little thing the angel had managed to piece back together within him to try and prepare for this conversation, and he burst into tears all over again.
Never had Aziraphale been fond of crying. He hadn't done it much, perhaps he would shed a tear here and there for something particularly beautiful or sad, it was something he loved at times actually, something that made him feel closer to humans and part of their loveliness. Yet, the painful choking sobs that escaped him now were nothing like the sweet tears of humanity, or maybe it was overwhelmingly so, and Aziraphale suddenly decided he very much despised the feeling.
The body language of Crowley faltered. His arm dropped from the relaxed way he was situated against the doorframe, and he let out a deep sigh before tugging the angel into his flat and shutting the door behind them.
Aziraphale couldn't see clearly enough to take in much of his surroundings. Shax had well enough given consent to Crowley moving back into the flat, but he couldn't tell if her things were even still there or not considering the copious amounts of liquid currently spilling from his eyes again and blurring his vision. His breaths came quick and painful and words began spilling out of his mouth but they made no sense to even him.
The normal eloquence in which he would usually fancy himself to expel was long gone in this moment, and he couldn't find any of the words he had been rehearsing in his mind on the way over. Other than guilt stopping him from miracling his way to the flat, it was entirely too possible that he was putting off the inevitable and giving himself time to go over the things he wanted to say to Crowley as well.
And yet that all went out the door when met with the dreaded blank expression of his best friend. Despite his anticipation of it.
Aziraphale felt warm hands suddenly on his face, cupping his cheeks as he cried. "Breathe, angel. Just breathe."
Aziraphale took a deep gasping breath, letting it out slowly. And then another. He repeated that until the crying had begun to taper off, focusing on the gentle whispers from the man in front of him, the gentle brushes of a coarse fingertip against his cheek. The vision of Crowley in front of him began to come into focus again, the shiny lenses of his sunglasses glinting in the false light.
"Oh Crowley..." Aziraphale tried again in a choked voice. "I'm so sorry."
The demon's lips pursed, his hands falling from Aziraphale's face, and the angel felt cold from the action, as though he could burst into tears once more from the loss of comforting touch, but refrained himself from doing so to the best of his ability, which luckily seemed to work now that he was a bit calmer.
"Sorry for what?" The demon chuckled drily.
Aziraphale wiped frustratingly at the eyes of this cursed corporal form. "You were right! I am an idiot. I wanted so badly...I just thought that maybe..." He shook his head, anguished.
"It doesn't matter what I thought. I was being selfish, I see that now. So much happened at once I got swept up in it all, at the thought of what could be, but it was wrong of me. I didn't realize the weight of everything that was happening until I was almost back there, in Heaven."
Crowley crossed his arms, letting him continue.
"I was just standing in the elevator and then I realized...what was I doing? I would be so, so terribly unhappy in Heaven. There are still things I wish I could set right, I still think the divine is simply that, and yet..." He stared at Crowley, eyebrows pinched at the carefully blank expression still on the demon's face.
"...all I could think about was us leaving things as they were. How wrong that felt, and how unsure I was about everything I was doing. I can't give up Earth, or humans, or...or you Crowley. I refuse to. Perhaps, in that I am also selfish, but no higher power can ever mean more to me than you do. I had forgotten, for a moment, my priorities."
Crowley's arms dropped, and he took a step closer. The corner of the demon's lips twitched, as though he were fighting a different expression. "Your priorities? And what would your priorities be?"
"Well...my shop for one." Crowley took another step towards him.
"Of course, you couldn't let those dusty old books catch on fire again."
"Precisely my train of thought!"
"And...?"
Aziraphale gulped as Crowley neared even closer. "And, well the absolute delight of crepes."
"And?" Crowley was now so close he towered over Aziraphale, so much so that the angel could scarcely breathe without awareness of how the demon would feel it whisper against his skin.
"And...and you Crowley. Of course it’s you…you…"
Crowley finally ripped off his sunglasses, and Aziraphale had the delight of staring into his striking yellow slitted eyes. They were open in the same way they had been earlier in his shop, and the emotion he could see in them was vast, almost as vast as the cosmos they had stared at when Crowley too had been an angel those many, many years ago. It hurt, and yet it was beautiful, and Aziraphale had never seen so much vulnerability from the man before now.
"Angel..." Crowley's voice was choked, like he too were on the verge of tears, like he couldn't get any more out other than that word.
He let out a squeak, then, as Crowley finally leaned all the way in once more, a hand coming back up to cup his cheek lovingly, and he kissed the angel fiercely.
This time, Aziraphale did not flounder from shock and fear, but instead he clutched onto the demon's back tightly and held him closer. As close as he could hold him.
Their lips moved not quite in sync, but perfectly out of rhythm as was their way. Heaven and Hell didn't matter, none of the other great angels or demons did, it was just them in this moment. It was so warm, and lovely, and many other things Aziraphale couldn't think to name. It was his demon, his Crowley, holding him so dearly, and kissing him so sweetly.
It was them, ineffably so. And anything that came after this, they would face together, on their team. Something that existed outside the contradictory plainness of 'good' and 'evil'.
Because it was them versus all creation, and it always had been.