Chapter Text
4 Pm, London, Soho
It all started the moment the wretched Supreme Archangel decided to bless the flat above the bookshop with his presence. The flat where one Crowley, formerly known six thousand years ago as the snake of Eden, could be found sitting down on the soft tartan couch* with a bottle of wine in the small table on the right side of the couch, by his side, one hand carding through Muriel’s hair since they’d decided to lay down with their head on his lap.
They had both startled at the sound of a trumpet playing, scared that, perhaps, Michael had decided to go down to Earth and give them a hard time**.
(*The yellowish tartan couch had been a gift from Crowley to Aziraphale in the late 50’s. Aziraphale had seen a similar one in the window of a furniture shop, but hadn’t bought it because, in his words “NO, Crowley, I don’t need it. I was just admiring it. Plus, it’s too black and I rather like yellow-y things” and Crowley would be damned if his friend didn’t have anything he wanted in the world. So, he sneaked into the apartment with the excuse of trying to find a spot for a plant he’d been wanting to punish by exiling it because it had grown a spot and miracled a brand new yellow-ish tartan couch into the middle of the way too empty living room. Upon seeing the brand new present, Aziraphale had tackled-hugged him into the floor and kissed his cheek in thanks, promptly blue screening Crowley’s poor brain.
After he left, Crowley had promptly camped in the damn couch for those long two months, all because it smelled of him: Old books, tea and mild rain.)
(**Crowley wasn’t actually that scared of Michael. He knew she feared him after the holy water bath. He was scared for Muriel. Heaven was often seen as merciful by Humanity, when, in truth, it was just as cruel as the deepest pit of hell, especially when scribes such as muriel didn’t fill the papers they were assigned and didn’t disclose all of their lives to them. He would rather die than let Muriel suffer the same fate as him.)
Lucky for them, it hadn’t been Michael or Uriel or even Metatron who had interrupted their leisure time. Unluckily for them, though, it had been the person they wanted to see the least for their own reasons. Crowley because of all that had happened in that last wretched time they had seen each other. Muriel because they’d barely known him for a week and he’d just waltzed out, abandoned them in a matter of minutes without so much a ‘goodbye’ or a ‘I’ll see you around’. So, when the lumpy mess on the floor had groaned and stretched and finally stood up, they’d both frowned*.
When Aziraphale had decided to look around the room and his gaze settled on them, a surprised yelp left his mouth and he, at least, had the decency of looking ashamed.
“Oh, erm, I didn’t know you were here. Um, hello?” He stuttered out timidly, which, as crowley noticed, was as in character to Aziraphale as it was not. When he’d left for Heaven, his friend had progressed past the timid stage, walking boldly into sassy territory as he spoke to people and even to his superiors**.
(*Crowley had been teaching Muriel about the world in his own way and they’d taken to imitating him as a little duck does to its parents. Unfortunately, that earned them encouragement from the demon himself when he’d noticed it, which led to Muriel becoming bolder in their imitations until, finally, they had fortunately made their very own personality which, akin to strawberries, was as sweet as sour, making them sound more human than they should. Crowley didn’t care for what they should or shouldn’t be. They were Muriel and that was all that mattered, even if sometimes they reminded him too much of him.
(**Back when he wasn't the supreme archangel that is. But once, in a slip, he had sassed God and received something akin to a baby’s giggle, so he guessed he wasn’t that bad.)
It hadn’t taken even a minute for Muriel to tear up and run up to him to give him a hug, then a slap on the cheek with a surprising amount of force for someone usually (to his memory) shy and understanding, and then another hug from which he couldn’t free himself. So, in retaliation, he’d hugged them back, rubbing their back as they sobbed into his chest letting out some heart squeezing whines and thrills. ‘A baby bird glad to see its parent’ Crowley realised immediately, heart heavy with sadness and the need to reach out and soothe their little bird, wrap them up in his wings and hold them as his other half made a small nest and- ‘NO, No. That’s never gonna happen you dumbarse of a demon’ he mentally chastised himself, hands curling and unfurling by his side with the need to reach out.
Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and his emotions and spoke numbly.
“Aziraphale, what're you doing here?”
“Oh, oh, right. Um, I needed a moment away from everything up there and I, um, decided that since no one comes here - or didn’t- that maybe… maybe I could just… let go of… Nevermind. Listen, I… I know you probably don’t want me around so I’ll just let you two be… um, Muriel you should let go dearie.” He explained hesitantly, moving to pry the youngster* away from him, but stopped when they let out a shriek and held on tighter, pleading for him not to leave again and to stay, “Stay forever, please, please mama ” was pleaded in Enochian and both the demon’s and the angel’s heart melted at the honorific.
Aziraphale lifted his gaze from Muriel’s head to Crowley’s eyes and the latter shivered.
“Look, I’m not saying we’re ok or tickety-boo or whatever. It’s your home, so I’ll leave. Muriel, I’ll be in the Bentley.” He informed as he moved toward the door, but a hand on his own and a whispered “ Papa stay, please” from the little bird in the room managed to let him be dragged back to the couch as his heart melted even further.
He sat down on the left side of it, maintaining a distance from the angel who sat on the right side, the scent of old books and tea and-
“Angel, why in the hell do you smell like cleaning products?!” He inquired as he turned around to face him, looking around for a bit to try and locate Muriel who had seemingly disappeared into the bedroom.
Aziraphale turned to him with a sad expression on his face and mumbled something that Crowley couldn’t hear.
“Speak louder, I can’t hear you!”
“I said that Heaven doesn’t allow even a particle of dust on the floor, so it always smells like this! It’s one of the reasons I couldn’t stay up there another minute.” He confessed, looking down ashamedly. Crowley, against all efforts, smirked and snorted.
“Oh, well, look at that, little prim and proper angel couldn’t take the smell of it and came down for a break. How lovely! Is that all it takes to break the mighty Supreme Archangel!?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. Besides him, Aziraphale’s eyes snapped up to look at him.
“No, I came down because I couldn’t take another minute away from you and I couldn’t, I couldn’t cope with the guilt of what I said to you and, and most of all because- because HEAVEN DIDN’T SMELL LIKE YOU!” He admitted to his face, immediately dropping his head in between his hands and sobbing before continuing. “Crowley, I know, I know what I did was undoubtedly unforgivable and that I don’t deserve to be here with you, not after how much I hurt you but I just couldn’t anymore… I, I even contemplated throwing myself into the pit of infernal fire but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t do that to you or Muriel. I’m sorry.” He hiccuped his excuse as he cried into his hands. Besides him, Crowley looked at him with surprise and sadness in his gaze.
Taking off his glasses and setting them on the floor near them, he slid closer to Aziraphale on the couch and pried his hands away from his face gently, looking at the teary eyed mess that was the angel in front of him. Distantly, far away in the room, Muriel kept on their search for more blankets and pillows, unaware of the confrontation happening in the living room.
“Aziraphale,” He called as his friend’s eyes didn’t leave the floor, “Aziraphale, please look at me.” He pleaded as he held his hands on his own. “I’m not mad, I promise. There you are, hey.” He smiled kindly at him while wiping his teary face with his thumb. “Listen, I… nghk. I’m not mad at you. I’m not even angry or anything like that. Right now, angel, I’m relieved. I’m glad you’re here. And… and maybe I will hold a slight grudge against you, but… but what I did wasn’t right. I used the kiss against you, used it as a desperate attempt to keep you here with me. But… listen, I know that you deserved to choose what you wanted. I’m just kind of sad that… that you felt the need to make me an angel again to be worthy of your love. I’m not that angel anymore, Aziraphale. I’m me, I’m a demon, have been for thousands of years. I just… yea.”
“Oh Crowley,” the angel whispered as he held his face in his hands, sky blue finding sunny yellow as their eyes met, “It was never about you being an angel and not a demon. I… I just wanted to make heaven good enough for you . I wanted… I’m sorry that I felt the need to change you, even though I know you are who you are. And I’m happy with who you are. I… I was a downright idiot and I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness but…but I need you to know that I love you. I always have and I always will. Through thick and thin, it’s always been you my dea-”
“Oh just shut up and kiss me, will ya?” Crowley murmured as he put his lips on Aziraphale’s in a slow, loving kiss that soon turned out way hotter than was intended as Aziraphale took control and grabbed the colar of his shirt, pulling him on top of him and licking his bottom lip.
They were promptly interrupted, though, as Muriel walked into the room with an array of pillows and blankets, cocked their head and asked “Nest?” in that small voice of theirs, looking at them with big bright eyes.
Crowley locked eyes with Aziraphale in a silent conversation of ‘what is happening right now?’ to which the other responded with a shrug, a gentle peck on the lips and a slight shove, moving to get up. As he did so, Crowley stayed seated on the couch, watching as the angel picked the items from Muriel’s arms and set them gently on the floor near him, preparing the space in front of him where a table had once stood and had now been miracled away for the nest. Muriel had stood there next to him confused about what to do, but, after a moment, had decided to cuddle up to Crowley as they cooed and thrilled, vocalisations that Crowley had mimicked in hopes of making them comfortable as he carded a hand through their hair. He snapped out of the bird brain trance when Aziraphale, who was in the middle of spreading the blankets out, started talking in what Crowley had named his ‘Informative-also-hot’ voice.
“It seems that Muriel is behaving like a fledgeling. An angel fledgeling. My guess is that, although they are old by human standards, they are still young by angel standards and thus, probably due to neglect and lack of proper raising, they have now taken to this behaviour as a coping mechanism from, probably, the emotional rollercoaster that was today and has been for the last two months… And Ta-da!” He stood back, away from the couch so as to not cover their view of the nest, hands on his back, gentle smile on his face. “Muriel, dear,” They called gently, watching as their eyes trailed over to him, “You can get into the nest now.”
Muriel stood up, walking slowly to the round shaped of intricately placed blankets and pillows on the floor, as if afraid of it, then bolted to the angel’s side, grabbing his hand and gently pulling him along into it. Aziraphale obeyed, catching Crowley’s confused gaze with his own intricate one as he went, and sat down. Perhaps Muriel had wanted him to show them that it was safe or had wanted to be held, he thought, but what actually happened had him surprised and a bit flustered. The younger angel had led him there and had then turned around, grabbed Crowley’s hand gently and pulled him into the nest as well. So, now there they were, Aziraphale on their left side and Crowley on their right.
Luckily, neither of the two complained. Instead, they’d coached them into laying down in the middle of them with their wings out, before laying right beside them. Aziraphale had taken to preening their left wing and Crowley had decided to simply pet their hair, putting them into a sleepy trance, coos and thrills leaving their mouth and being mimicked by either one of the two. The words ‘Mama, papa, love you’ had slipped out of their mouth before they fell asleep, both wings preened, curled up around Aziraphale with Crowley close behind them, hand still carding through their hair. Needless to say, both of them had melted on the spot.
“So,” Crowley started after some time, hand leaving Muriel’s hair to pet Aziraphale’s cheek lovingly, “What did you mean by lack of proper raising? Back when I was still… before the fall, fledgelings used to be taken care of by everyone, angel.” He inquired as his hand found the other’s waist and settled there.
Aziraphale closed his eyes at the caresses, sighed and finally answered. “Things changed Crowley. Not long after the rebellious ones fell, the archangels declared that no bonding activities were to be made anymore. No more preening, no more nesting, no more anything. Oh, it was awful Crowley. The fledgelings, the few made after that, were just… thrown into work from the beginning. I… I tried to change that, I really did, but… but I couldn’t.”
“ Oh, angel .” He whispered lovingly, “It’s ok. We’re here now. Safe. C’mon, let’s set up a miracle barrier thingy so they don’t find out where you are. And then we’re gonna rest, ok?”
With a nod, the angel lifted his hand as if to touch his demon’s, but slowly set it down as a kiss was delivered to his lips and a miracle, stronger than any he’d ever witnessed, formed a barrier. And on the seventeenth* hour of that evening, they rested.
(*Yes, this was a “(...) and on the seventh day He rested.” reference. No, I’m not ashamed.)