Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Chapter Text
Summer 2024 (Random Day in July)
It’s hotter than hell here in Soho. He hates it. It’s too hot to do any single thing. Practicing bass or drums or vocals were off the table. Putting finishing touches on his clothes for next week’s music festival was out of the question. Pruning his plants was out of the question. He did not want to do anything except lounge around licking ice lollies – that was it. Even sweating and breathing ended up being too much work. It got to the point a constable barked the order to go inside. Crowley, though he grumbled, obliged.
That’s how he ended up standing and listening to a presentation on banjoes. He did not want a banjo. He did not want to learn how to play one, either. They were Crowley’s least favorite instrument followed closely by the harp and rattles. However, what other choice did he have? He could take a trip to the coast and dive into the ocean; he liked doing that. But, driving seemed too much, too. As much as he adored driving his Bentley it was just too hot to travel. Plus, Crowley had a concert tomorrow and the music festival next week resulted in his day being utterly packed.
“Did you hear that Aziraphale’s doing a concert this evening?” a jovial-sounding voice said. It broke up the sounds of the instruments being plucked. “Only five pounds to enter. What a steal!”
Crowley’s head jerked upwards. He’d grabbed a magazine about guitars a few minutes early and had been reading a section about the different types of strings. For a moment, he thought that the voice was talking to him, but realized that must not be the case. He honestly did not know a lot of people even though he himself was also a musician. Crowley tended to keep to himself – it was easier that way (less people to hurt him).
“I know. I can’t believe it,” another voice, this one higher pitched but with a touch of posh added to it. “Usually those tickets sell loads and loads.”
Aziraphale - selling tickets for loads of money? How had that happened? Last Crowley knew he’d been struggling to get his footing. At least he’d get two or three people at a show. Now, it seemed that the music world was treating him well.
Despite himself, he wanted to get closer and find out a bit more about the goings on of the angel of a person named Aziraphale. He glanced about trying to figure out who was talking about him. It wasn’t very busy. There were a few people looking at guitars. Someone was choosing a new microphone. None of them were doing much talking. Then, there was a couple nearby who were staring at a display of banjos with a fierce intensity. They were too interested in those instruments for his comfort. How long had it been since he’d heard that name? Far too long it seemed, but even though it truly had been years it made his stomach do a flip flop and his heart flutter like a million of bees clamoring to get out of their hive.
“It’s for a charity. MindOut I believe it’s for,” the man continued. “I got his newsletter in my inbox this morning. All the money raised during this charity will be donated to them. Isn’t that lovely?”
“Oh, it’s marvelous! Oh, Daniel, we ought to go. We hadn’t seen a show in ages and ages. We haven’t seen a show that’s small and quaint in ages upon ages.”
“No. We haven’t! We should go for the memories. Plus, we can tell all our friends how generous we are. We’re helping a musician and we can prattle on and on about how charitable we are.”
“We’ll be so good. Plus, we’ll be the talk of the town. Maybe we could get him to play an Ed Sheeran song. We are paying him. He has to do what paying customers request of him.”
Crowley felt his blood start to broil. How dare they talk about Aziraphale like he was a play thing to them? He was a living, breathing creature of the highest quality. Crowley opened his mouth and closed it. What could he say? What would Aziraphale do?
“Excuse me?” Crowley asked the couple, trying to sound as laid back and neutral as possible. “Did I hear that Aziraphale’s in town tonight?”
“Yes. Yes. Are you going? It’s such a good way to give back to the community. I’ve never listened to his music and I hear it’s good. But I don’t know if it’s good good or if it’s clap-for-child’s-art good,” he woman said as she stifled a yawn.
“Oh, yes. I am good. I’m going to protect him from people like you,” Crowley growled, his fingernails digging into his palm. “He is not your puppet. He won’t be playing anything by Ed Sheeran – not a fan – so don’t you try to get him to and it does not matter that you’re paying him. That money is for charity. It’s not to buy yourself a song or a space in the crowd.”
The couple looked stunned. He did not celebrate. Turning on his he, Crowley works on getting himself called down. Another night in jail does not sound fun. He tried his tapping techniques and his breathing exercises. They did not help. He really really wanted to see Depeche Mode (as well as a certain someone). He couldn’t see it from jail.
Plopping the journal down on a stack of music books, Crowley marched off. Besides being enraged by that couple and needing to calm down before he did something destructive, he strode out of the music shop and headed back him to go get ready to see that angel of his.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Chapter Text
Summer 2024 (Random Day in July)
Crowley’s mind was a million miles away. All day long he found himself zoning out. People grumbled about him getting in the way and how he’ll get himself run over if he wasn’t careful. His band mates questioned if he was drunk. He did not want to get himself run over. He was not drunk. He just couldn’t focus. His mind was only on Aziraphale. The rocker did not even remember calling an impromptu practice for the festival next week, but apparently he did because the whole team showed up at the studio. Hell, Crowley did not even remember going to the studio nor did he even pay attention to the songs they practiced (thankfully one of the band members thought to record the jam session to upload on YouTube). Last he’d decided was that this was not a practice day. From the moment he’d heard Aziraphale was in Soho, (and performing no less), the world felt like it had tilted. Everything was asunder with seismic changes. Nothing would be the same.
That must seem like a preposterous claim. How could a small concert in Soho change anything? Honestly, Crowley had the foggiest of clues. He just knew.
Maybe it was the fact that he had not seen Aziraphale in five years? Maybe it’s because when he locked eyes with that dear angel soul, Crowley felt utterly intoxicated? Maybe if they spoke, he’d end up falling once more? What if lust got the better of him? What if lust got the better of Aziraphale? Maybe it was because he hadn’t been to Soho in those same five years and the week he ended up here for a show of his own, Aziraphale also came? Maybe it was something he hadn’t even thought of yet.
Guess I’ll face that when I get there, he thought as he boarded the bus. Crowley could have driven, but he chose differently. He was too distracted to drive. He would probably end up in the gutter the way his thoughts were in a million places. Besides, he was too hot and Crowley hated driving when it was sweltering. Sitting and looking out the window would give him time to prepare for this reunion. However, that didn’t happen. Their first meeting came to mind.
Crowley stumbled through the crowd with a beer-filled pitcher in his hands. He tried to walk as straight of line as possible. But, it was more of a saunter. He’d been out for several hours and he was definitely buzzed. As he worked to carry the beer back to his table, he bumped into someone. The golden liquid sloshed out if it.
~*~
Autumn 2017 (Crowley’s Birthday in October)
A delicate noise came from the other person. “Oh, dear. Gabriel won’t like this,” he whispered. “He just got this for me.”
Crowley stood there listening to the man mumble to himself as he wiped off some of the beer from his jacket. His brow puckered. As the moments ticked by, he found himself bubbling with curiosity (although, that could have been the alcohol’s effect). “I am so sorry,” Crowley said with a rushed tone as he was not the strongest at apologizing. “I can, uh, play for the dry cleaning or a new jacket if you want.”
“No. No. it’s all right,” Aziraphale said, grabbing some napkins and dabbing at the spot. “I have some miracle stuff that gets any stain out of clothes.”
“Good. That’s… good. If you won’t let me pay to clean the jacket, then can I at least offer you a drink?”
“Well, that would be lovely. Yes. I think I can do that. I have a little time,” the man said. “I’m Aziraphale, by the way. You?”
“Eh, Crowley,” he stammered, taking a moment to look at who he ran into. The man took his breath away. His white hair curled around his head as if he was wearing a crown. He had a wide, wholesome face with eyes so bright and gentle that he could easily spend his day just staring at him. He was dressed in heavenly colors – cream jeans, tan leather jacket, and a screen-printed t-shirt printed with tartan. “You… nice look.”
“Oh, thank you. I worried it wasn’t enough.”
“I don’t know you, but I think anything you wear will be enough,” Crowley said. He then gestured his hand to get Aziraphale to join him. Once at the table, he introduces Aziraphale to the crowd. Then, the two of them fell into deep conversations about Queen (particularly Bohemian Rhapsody) that lasted for hours and hours. Crowley’s friends slipped in and out of their conversation.
They only stopped with a bell chimed. Aziraphale pulled out his phone to check the time. “Oh, I need to go. I have an early day tomorrow,” he stammered, standing up. “This was a lovely evening. I hope we can do it soon.”
“I hope we can, too,” Crowley mumbled as Aziraphale left the bar. He just stared after the man, regretting not getting his phone number. He’d forgotten phones existed until Aziraphale pulled his out. Crowley so very wished the evening had lasted forever.
~*~
Summer 2024 (Random Day in July)
Crowley wanted this night to be as quick as possible. He did not know if he could handle facing this gorgeous specimen of a person for very long. He did not know how it would go and Crowley did not want to make a fool of himself. He was pretty sure he’d get down on his knees and beg Aziraphale to take him back, but that would not be a good look. Crowley had worked so hard to get where he was and he did not want to mess it up by bringing in reinforcements.
He never thought he’d want to get away from Aziraphale. He just didn’t want to do something he’d regret later. He didn’t want to ruin the memories of what they’d had together. It had not been perfect. Tumultuous was a better term for what they experienced. But he wouldn’t change a thing. Would he change this? Only time would tell.
Chapter 3: Chapter Three
Chapter Text
Winder 2017 (New Year’s Eve)
Crowley didn’t know how this happened, but every night, as the next year was rung in, he and a quarter of his band ended up at a dive bar playing an acoustic set of their punk rock music. At least that’s how it started out. At some point, after Crowley had had a pint or two, it evolved into covers of Journey songs. That band wasn’t even one of his favorite bands; it wasn’t even in his top 10, but he still played it.
The drunkards sang along. Some danced. Some brawled. It felt almost choreographed.
Settled deep into this tradition, Crowley hammered the keys of the piano. He added his own riffs and chords to turn the classic to something that was remotely fresh. “It goes on and on and on and on,” he crooned as he took in the smoke-filled room full of haphazard jovialness. “On and on…” His voice faltered. Distracted, Crowley found himself playing the same note over and over.
The bell over the entrance (and exit) chimes. That angelic man entered wearing a similar color palette as the first time they met – pastel and neutral that somehow highlighted his pale hair. His hands were shoved inside his pea coat’s pocket and his head bowed against the snow. The artificial lighting glowed against the melted snowflakes that covered his shoulders. At the music, though, his head shot up.
“Hidin' somewhere in the night,” Aziraphale sang. His voice sounded like honey. It sounded rich and full and added to Crowley’s coarse rasp. The two voices, which were very different in tone, melded into one. Crowley couldn’t believe how this particular duet managed to turn the classic cover into something truly unique.
Aziraphale sang as he meandered over to the piano. He propped his elbow on the lid and rested his chin on his hands. Crowley watched his movements for a moment, but had to glance away as he found it so very easy to get lost in those warm eyes that offered such openness.
They sang two more covers and then Crowley closed with one of his original tunes. Aziraphale, even though he faltered and stumbled over some of the lyrics joined in. Such a talent, Crowley mused. Never heard this song before, yet took it on like it was his own. That was pretty impressive.
After Crowley played the last couple of notes, Crowley closed the lid to cover the keys. The patrons, who had gathered around wandered back to their tables. Those who brawled through the whole set took their fight outside. It was just Aziraphale and him. He spared a glance at the angel of a man. Crowley’s stomach clenched; he tried to brush it off. Aziraphale seemed paler – both in his complexion and his hair. His lips had an off tint, but that could have been the lighting. He seemed to be taking deliberate breaths, but they had been singing so he understood. However, Crowley still found himself with a nagging sensation that he could not quite shake. The fading bruise on Aziraphale’s hand bothered him too.
“Crowley? Did you hear me?” Aziraphale asked. Worry tinged his voice. It made Crowley snap out of his thoughts and meet the man eye-to-eye. The worry in his voice showed in his eyes.
“Ah, sorry, naw,” he stammered with a shake of his head. He gave a shake of his head. “Sorry. I didn’t.” His cheeks grew red, but the dimness of the bar hid that well enough. He wanted to be seen as cool. Blushing wasn’t cool – at least that’s what he’d been told (Crowley didn’t know if that was true or not).
“Your voice has that affect on me, too. It’s easy to get lost in the moment,” Aziraphale assured him. He reached over and took Crowley’s hand. He gave it a bit of a squeeze, but did not let go. “As I was saying, where did you learn to play like that? I’ve never heard anything quite like that! You’re quite good.”
“I, uh, well,” Crowley stammered. All thoughts were gone. Aziraphale was touching his hand! Crowley never wanted them to part. “I suppose my granddad. He was a jazz musician. Music runs in the family. What about you? Where did you learn to sing like an angel?”
“Me? Sing like an angel? I don’t think so. I just like to sing,” Aziraphale replied. It was his turn to turn red with embarrassment. “I took classes and went to school. No one else in my family has an ear for music.”
“You make up for the generations that didn’t have any talents. So, what do you like to sing? I get the feeling you like Journey?” Crowley asked. It felt like they were sinking into this conversation. It came so easily. Is this what a conversation was supposed to be like? It felt so natural
“Oh, who doesn’t like to sing Journey? I also like a bit of this and a bit of that. I’m rubbish with rap and I don’t do Ed Sheeran covers,” Aziraphale remarked, wrinkling his nose at the thought of singing those covers. “But… I’m not really sure. I sing what comes into my mind and calls to my heart.”
Crowley was about to say more when the bell broke the connection. Aziraphale pulled his hand away as fast as a snake strikes its next meal. Dropping his hands to his side, he wiped his hands on his coat. “Gabriel, hello, darling…” he stammered, averting his gaze away from the imposing man who just entered and had joined them at the piano.
“Where have you been? You know I don’t like to be kept waiting. We had plans. What about dinner at the fancy Japanese place. They even have that inedible sushi you’re always raving about. It took two years to get my reservation and the restaurant probably had to open it up. Where were you?” Gabriel asked, ignoring Crowley. He glowered at Aziraphale. “No call. No text. You could’ve passed out! You know how sensitive you get in the cold.”
“That’s why I’m here. I got a bit nipped while heading to meet you,” Aziraphale remarked. “It was on the way so I thought I’d stop in for a few minutes to get a bit warmer. I was thirsty and forgot my water bottle at home. I…I forgot to order a water, too.” He wiped his hands on his coat once more and started shifting from side-to-side.
“Fine. Whatever. Let’s go,” Gabriel said in a tone that was sharp. He did nothing to hide the annoyance. He turned to head back to the door, but stopped. He sized Crowley up and down with a wrinkled nose. “He’s taken.” Gabriel then looked to Aziraphale, nodded to the door, and left with Aziraphale trailing behind him.
~*~
Summer 2024 (Random Day in July)
Crowley paid for entrance. He also donated a 100 quid. This was a charity concert. The 5 pounds was just the entrance fee. Anything extra was appreciated, but not required. Given the ticket, a “thank-you”, and “enjoy the bands”, Crowley followed the crowd into the auditorium and took a seat so he could stretch his legs out in front of him.
He, like many people there, sang along with the songs. He bobbed and wavered to the music. However, he did not get up and dance as so many of the people here did. This was how he enjoyed music. No one cared. He only stilled himself when the curtain closed and lights further darkened as they did a set change. Moments later, lights filled a stage decorated with large mushrooms, teacups, clouds, and faux trees. The set looked like it was out of Wonderland.
Crowley sat up straighter in his set. He took off his glasses. His breath caught and that feeling of dread filled him. Aziraphale looked even paler than last time. He wore heavy and intricate make-up but Crowley could see. He was thinner and seemed unsteady on his feet. “No. No. No,” Crowley whispered, pushing up from his seat.
He couldn’t sit here. He couldn’t stay and listen. He couldn’t look at Aziraphale. He just couldn’t do it.
Chapter 4: Chapter Four
Chapter Text
Winter 2018 (Christmas Eve)
Crowley drank too much. As of late, he tended to do that during holidays. If asked, he’d just claim to be making the most of the celebrations. Crowley justified it to himself using that same claim. Each holiday came around only once a year so why not make the best of it? The Greek Gods and Goddesses had the right idea when it came to parties – copious amounts of food and drink. After a bender he’d actually gone to the closest tattoo parlor, rolled up his sleeve, and gotten a tattoo of a bunch of grapes surrounded by the phrase: Dionysus was Right.
He drank to forget. He drank so he didn’t feel anything. He drank to be numb. He drank to suppress the worry.
Holidays brought thoughts of that angelic man he’d only met twice in his life. They had been brief moments, but time spent with Aziraphale left the rocker feeling more alive than he’d felt in a very long time. There had been a connection. There’d been passion. There’d been a sense that this was how it was supposed to be. Aziraphale and he were destined for each other – Crowley found himself certain of that fact. Yet, they weren’t and probably never would be as the chances of them finding one another were slim to none.
Even still, Crowley tried to forget. He pushed himself deep into making music. He’d serial dated. He’d smoked some weed. He went clubbing, and on one such occasion he met Nina and Maggie, a charming lesbian couple. He tried shopping but found that only buying copious amounts of plants did anything to distract him from the agony and the worry he felt when Aziraphale popped into his mind (which was both at day and at night).
Somethin’ wrong, Crowley thought. There’s something wrong with Aziraphale. Those words might have slurred themselves out of his lips. Nina and Maggie, who he’d been out with on this particular holiday, had not spoken nor were they saying anything as the two women helped Crowley into the building, up the flight of stairs, and into his flat. They didn’t even say anything as they helped Crowley get into bed.
Crowley passed out before they left. Lying on top of the bed, he slept on his stomach; he had one hand draped over the side of the bed. The rocker did not budge from this position for a couple of hours. But something woke him. He jerked his head up. His hand swatted towards the table but Crowley stopped it just before it connected with the glass of water Nina or Maggie left for him before they went on their way.
Blurry-eyed and cotton mouth, he took in the situation. He was in his bedroom. His head was throbbing. He heard something ringing in his room. While attempting to figure it out, he took the headache medication one of the women had set out. The phone finally caught his attention. He picked it up and brought it to his ear.
“Hello? ‘Ello?” he greeted. His voice was craggy and thick from sleep. Crowley swung himself so his feet were squarely planted on the ground. With his free hand, he gripped the mattress so as to keep himself from falling to the floor. Too fast of movements resulted in dizziness. “Anyone there, eh?”
“Crowley?” The familiar voice squeaked the word. The voice on the other side sounded so small and frail and sad. “Please, is this Crowley?” Faint beeps and boops and other indeterminable sounds emoted from the phone as Aziraphale spoke.
“Angel? Aziraphale, is that you? Where are you?” Crowley said, sobering up as he tried to process the call. His mouth felt dry. As the rocker awaited an answer, he knew what the answer would be, but how had Aziraphale ended up there in the first place?
“Oh. Crowley. I….I’m in the hospital. St. Ambrose,” he stammered, sniffing and clearing his throat. “I’m alone.” At those words, his voice broke. Aziraphale stayed on the line, but silent for a good few minutes. Crowley just sat there listening to the rustle of the blankets and sheets and the quiet sobs that emoted from his throat or lips. With every passing moment, the background beeping grew louder and louder to the point there seemed to be a nurse coming in to assist.
“I’m coming,” Crowley promised. Head full of questions about where Gabriel was, how he got Crowley’s phone number, and why Aziraphale was even in the hospital, he dressed in haste, called a taxi, and headed off to the hospital. He was there within the hour. Getting in was easier said than done. Finally, he settled on lying about being a family member to visit Aziraphale well past the holidays. He barged into the room just as the nurses were leaving.
Aziraphale looked so small in that bed. He’d lost more weight and his complexion was even paler. His cheeks were splotched red and his eyes were swollen from crying. Aziraphale tried to push himself up but found to be lacking ability. Crowley, ignoring everything and everyone around him, ran over to the bed and wrapped Aziraphale in a hug. He pulled the man close and allowed Aziraphale to sob out all his tears before trying to do anything. He continued to hold him well after Aziraphale stopped sobbing, He just stood there, stroking his hair while looking at the equipment.
“You came. I thought…. I didn’t think you’d come and I didn’t think anyone cared,” Aziraphale mumbled into Crowley’s waist. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m terribly lonely. I…I passed out while practicing and ended up knocking over Gabriel’s drink. I chipped his mug. He’s… he’s tired of my messiness. We broke up”
Crowley’s eyes hardened as he looped his fingers around the curls. His jaw pulsed as he held it tight. How dare he talk about Aziraphale like that? How dare he treat him like this? More anger than he knew existed flooded through his system.
“I thought it would be different. I….I wanted it to be different. It should have been, but I guess this all proves it wasn’t supposed to be like this. What did I do to deserve any of what I’ve gotten? I tried to be good. I tried to be helpful.”
“Not your fault. It will be okay. It’s not right now, but it will be,” Crowley assured him. He planted a delicate kiss on the top of his hair. His nose was greeted with a gentle spiced peach sent – it was almost the smell of peach pie.
~*~
Summer 2024 (Random Day in July)
Crowley went to the only place that he really liked besides his flat. He sauntered into the bar and plopped down onto one of the stools. The bartender took his order and he downed it. He drank another and another and another. He was at beer five or six with the bell ran over the door.
An angelic figure entered the bar. His hands were crossed in front of him and he seemed to be searching for something or someone. His gentle eyes landed on Crowley and a bit of a smile tugged the corners of his mouth. Crowley felt so warm and comforted as Aziraphale approached. He cared. He really cared. That was a first.
“Crowley, hello. It’s been awhile,” he greeted. To the bartender, he asked for ginger ale and water. “I’m glad you’re still coming here. I saw, well I saw you leave the show and I was worried. I knew I had to find you.”
“You’re an angel. You really didn’t. You’re so kind,” Crowley slurred as Aziraphale pushed the glass of ginger ale to him. Crowley might have been drunk, but he wasn’t drunk enough to not know what the other man meant. He picked up the glass of ginger ale and then sipped on the refreshing soda.
“Anything you want to say?” Aziraphale asked as he ordered himself a ginger ale. He sipped on it while keeping an eye on Crowley. When the blond felt like Crowley should drink, he’d nudged it to him and Crowley took the hint. “Why did you leave the concert?”
“Too emotional. Needed air. Can we go now? I drank the ginger ale. I hate ginger ale,” Crowley whined. “It burns. It’s like prickly water that has a spicy twang. Water should not be spicy.”
“It’s not water. But, yes, we can go,” Aziraphale agreed. He paid the bartender and then draped Crowley’s arm over his shoulder (which Crowley noticed seemed bonier that he remembered). “Come along.”
Aziraphale and Crowley went out onto the streets. Crowley sang off-key Journey songs all the way back to Crowley’s flat. “Hey… how’d you know?” Crowley asked as they climbed the stairs. “I didn’t tell you.”
“No. No. You didn’t. You sent flowers to a venue I was playing at a few months back and it had a note about sending a thank you card to the address put on the card. I just assumed it was your place.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have intruded.” Crowley crooned. His words still slurred together. “It was invasive.”
“No. It was nice. If I hadn’t listed on my website all the places I was playing for that month I would have thought it unsettling,” Aziraphale said as he opened the door into Crowley’s flat. “It’s nice that someone cared. No one else did that. Not a one.”
Crowley stumbled into the flat. He flopped onto the couch and laid his head back against the rest. Aziraphale was busy doing this and that, but Crowley had his eyes closed and he couldn’t see what was going on. Soon enough, the angelic man brought him aspirin, water, and a cool compress. “You can rest now. I’m here. I’ll take care of you. Consider this a token of appreciation. Thank you for being there when I needed someone. Thank you.”
Chapter 5: Chapter Five
Chapter Text
Summer 2024 (Random Day in July)
Aziraphale shuffled about the flat. Crowley could hear the man moving here and there. The din of pots and pans made his head throb. Opening and closing of doors caused him to wince. Why did the world have to be so blasted loud? Soon the fragrant scent of food cooking greeted him. Swallowing, Crowley’s stomach churned and a little moan escaped his lips.
There was then a cool cloth covering his eyes and an alcohol-laced cotton ball tickling his upper lip. Crowley grabbed the cloth from Aziraphale and batted the cotton ball away from his nose. “What are you doing?” he asked, smacking his cracked lips. It felt like his mouth had been filled with hundreds of those cotton balls. That would be the worst game of Chubby Bunny ever played – Crowley was certain of it.
“Taking care of you,” Aziraphale said, tossing the cotton ball in the trash before placing a steady hand on Crowley’s back as the man sat himself up and planted his feet onto the ground. “It looks like you need some assistance. Did it help?”
Crowley opened his mouth. He paused. Closing it, he frowned. Instead, he laid the wash cloth on his side table and grabbed the glass of water. Sipping on it, Crowley stared down at his shoes. There was no way to answer. Instead, he searched for distractions. When had they gotten so scuffed? Why did I choose these? They’re not hip! They’re not cool. They don’t scream rock and roll. They say going to bingo on a Friday night, he thought.
“I thought so,” Aziraphale said, standing from his seat. He wavered on the spot for a moment. To steady himself, Aziraphale rested his fingertips against the plush arm of the chair. “You don’t have to say anything.” Aziraphale moved away from the couch. He tidied the space – folding blankets, fluffing pillows, putting magazines away, and even checking on the plants – before heading back to the kitchen.
“I hope you like Hachis Parmentier. It’s a family recipe. I also made some oatmeal raisin cookies. I can’t believe you had golden raisins. It’s the only proper ones for these cookies,” he remarked while pulling the cookies out of the oven (with an oven mitt on of course). There was a hint of labored breathing but it only piqued Crowley’s attention for a moment. “You don’t have to eat them now, though. But, please at least eat some crackers at the very least.”
“Uh, I don’t have the foggiest idea of what a hatchet parmesan is,” Crowley blurted. Was that what Aziraphale had said? His head was heavy and the whole circumference hurt like someone had whacked him with a cricket bat. “So I don’t know if I like it or not.”
“Oh! It’s cottage pie,” Aziraphale called from the kitchen. He paused to clear his throat. “My grandparents liked to use fancy words for things. I suppose I picked up the habit.”
Crowley shifted in his spot on the couch and watched as Aziraphale put opened the oven, slipped the meal onto the rack and closed the door. He set the mallard duck timer to ding when it went off. “You didn’t have to do this. You don’t have to do any of this,” Crowley mumbled as Aziraphale bustled about the house. Crowley couldn’t help but notice how he went from room to room (and judging by the sounds continued his cleaning spree). “I don’t deserve it.”
“Do you think God hates you? Do you think that you have done something worthy of punishment?” Aziraphale asked from bedroom. “Of course you deserve care. Everyone does.” After a few minutes, he came from that room with an arm full of dirty laundry (mostly t-shirts and towels) to put in the washer.
“You are amazing. Gabriel didn’t deserve you,” Crowley said aloud and to himself, he thought, I don’t deserve you. You truly are an angel. “I’m sorry for leaving the show. I’m sorry for not staying. I…I tried. I wanted to stay so very badly.”
“I know. At least the charity got some money from your donation. That’s all that matters to me. I don’t care if any single soul stayed to listen. If they donated and then left my job was done. I just played to bring in the cash. It is a good cause. I’m just happy to help. The charity is such a life savior. I don’t think I’d be here as long as I’ve been without it.”
~*~
Spring 2019 (Aziraphale’s birthday)
The first day of spring and Crowley noticed that the world was awash with color. Don’t flowers bloom so much earlier? Crowley mused while sauntering down the sidewalk. Or maybe I just don’t normally notice that stuff. Usually I’m just so bloody busy. There’s too much to do than to look at the flowers growing along the sidewalk.
He smiled despite himself. This was the happiest he’d felt in a very long time. He did not want to lose it. He did not want to lose the person who brought that into his heart. His life was far more lively and colorful now with Aziraphale in his life. For the first time in a very long time, Crowley felt optimistic and he had a feeling it had to do with that dear angel’s presence.
He felt like a very lucky man. He had such a gentle, lovely soul in his life. How had he lucked out with such a destiny? What were the chances of Aziraphale and Crowley even meeting? What were the chances they would have become close – even if they had met? It didn’t matter. It was just fun to ponder those what if’s.
Crowley’s phone buzzed just then. It pulled him out of his thoughts. Pulling it out, he glanced at it. Aziraphale sent a text wondering where he’d gone. Crowley sighed and texted that he was on his way. He then hastened his stride and only slowed when he remembered it was Aziraphale’s birthday.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered under his breath. He looked around, desperate for an idea for a perfect gift. He hurried here and there – stopping at each window and peering in. Only an antique store drew him in. He then left with a gold ring adorned with angel-wings (they wrapped around the finger). It was perfect. Purchasing it, and getting it gift wrapped, he headed out the store just as another text came to his phone. For some reason that made him smile a second time.
Five minutes later he arrived to the venue. “I’m here. I’m here,” he promised. Aziraphale stood on the stage staring down at him with his head cocked and arms crossed. “Hello, Birthday Boy! I see you missed me. It’s nice to be missed.”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes. A tiny smirk played with the corner’s of his lips. “We should get to work,” he remarked. The man was about ready to step away from the edge of the stage when Crowley cleared his throat. “Yes?”
“I have something for you. It is your birthday, after all. You should have some pleasure,” Crowley said, pulling out the ring box and holding it up to Aziraphale. “For you. I saw it in the window and I just knew I had to get it.”
“That’s not the line Carol Burnett uses, but I forgive you for that,” Aziraphale said, untying the ribbon and cautiously unwrapping the gift. He opened the box and stared down at it. “Oh, it’s absolutely divine. Thank you.” As Aziraphale slipped it on his ring finger, Crowley hopped up on stage.
He glanced at the ring. It fit his hand so perfectly. It seemed made for him. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, taking his spot. Thirsty, Crowley grabbed the sealed bottle of water from its spot on the stool. Unscrewing the lip, he took a sip. “Let’s rock and roll! This first show of ours is going to be huge. Music execs showing up even or so I’ve been told.”
“Time to shine,” Aziraphale remarked, going over to his own microphone. He began his warm ups and Crowley did the same. While they prepared for practice songs and then performing a full set, Crowley marveled at how the last couple months had treated them. While Crowley did not know what was going on, he did know that Aziraphale looked stronger and happier (and that was all that mattered). Their voices strengthened and found their sync so they worked smoothly together. Everything was looking up and Crowley did not want to lose any of it. He wanted this day to last forever.
Chapter 6: Chapter Six
Chapter Text
Summer 2024 (Random Day in July)
“Yes. Yes. That charity is just marvelous,” Aziraphale mused, looking not at Crowley but at the window. More specifically, he was staring at a month that clung to the window (Crowley could not resist the urge to follow the other man’s gaze). “They really helped me when I didn’t think I deserved help or support or even… a chance to live and dream.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone deserves help. Dreams and living is part of life,” Crowley remarked, setting up straighter in his seat and taking a bit of medication to relieve the headache that was forming. “True, there are some people who can be quite foul. People can be unsavory. Those lot do some unsightly things, but you’re not that. You are the kindest and gentlest person I have ever met. You barely know me and you’ve nursed my drunken ass back to a semblance of soberness.”
“I was just doing what anyone would do. But that is neither here nor there. I don’t want to argue that. You won’t convince me so don’t bother,” Aziraphale said as he glanced Crowley’s way before turning his attention back to the window (the moth had flown away). “But, yes, I didn’t feel like I deserved anything. I didn’t have any family. I didn’t have any real friends. I didn’t have anything except a conflict of religion and my sexuality. I thought there were something utterly and completely broken. I thought I was beyond fixing.”
Aziraphale’s voice quivered. As he spoke, he fidgeted by rubbing the tips of his fingers together. They made the softest swooshing sound with the back and forth movement. Breath catching, he licked his lips. “So… so much went wrong with my life and I was only sixteen. No one wanted me, especially not my parents. At least, not when they saw the notes left for me. The one day I didn’t clean out my pocket,” he continued on after a pregnant pause. “Didn’t matter what had happened or was going on and a lot was going on…” Aziraphale’s voice broke. No, it shattered. He leaned forward, arms wrapped around himself sobbing.
“Oh, angel,” Crowley whispered, leaning forward and resting a hand on Aziraphale’s leg. “Oh, sweet angel. You are as you should. You are enough and anyone tells you that is just being cruel. They did not understand. They do not understand and do not deserve you. Not at all.”
The sobs turned to coughing and clearing his throat. He continued to sit there, trying to compose himself. “But… but I was a challenge. I rebelled. I lost my faith long before I found the men and women in my life attractive. I saw how so many were treated by it and I lost it. I couldn’t keep such beliefs. It broke me. It broke my heart. It broke my mind. It broke my spirit,” Aziraphale whispered, wiping the tears from his face. “MindOut help me see some of that stuff was not true. They helped me find myself. They helped me save what could be saved.”
“They broke your spirit, though. Not you. Not who you love,” Crowley interjected. His hands balled into fists. His lip curled into a snarl. Oh, how he wished he could go strike terror in the hearts who harmed this dear, sweet man. All he ever wanted with love and acceptance and he was turned away. What cold, demented cruelty that fact seemed. “As long as there is consent, infatuation, and agreement, who bloody cares? As long as you’re not harming another soul in the process of living your life who cares?”
Aziraphale shrugged. What answer could there be? He did not need to say anything, though. Crowley could figure it out. There were a lot of people who cared. He hated how nosey people got. He hated how people (strangers) tried to butt into his own life and dictate the steps taken. “As long as you’re happy, you should be able to live your life however you want. Are you happy?”
“Well,” Aziraphale began, be stopped. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, I got to go. I have to go prepare for another round of performances I left after my first set. It’s a 24 hour charity concert. An hour for every suicide in Scotland, you see. So I need to get back. They need the money. Without they can’t offering a friendly ear on the other end of the tele or host counseling sessions or provide connection for the older lgbtqia community. They do so much good in the dark times.”
“I understand. I’ll see you. Thank you for taking care of me, angel,” Crowley said. To those words he got a nod. Crowley watched as Aziraphale left in a rush. Aziraphale only paused to open the door, although kept his hand on the knob for a brief moment as he wanted to say something, but ended up chickening out. For a long time, the rocker stared at the spot Aziraphale had been. “You dear, dear angel you…”
~*~
Winter 2019 (Valentine’s Day)
Is this what happiness is? Or is it nerves disguised as happiness? Crowley mused while heading down the street the recording studio with his hands in his leather coat. He fiddled with a box as he went (he’d picked out a pair of angel-wing cufflinks that he was certain Aziraphale would adore). It’s been so long since I felt this way that I honestly can’t tell the difference. The world seemed brighter and sillier and far more filled with life. Inspiration shined everywhere and while Crowley had gone through a long stretch of writers block, he found himself creating more songs that he had ever done.
He felt lighter and more confident. He felt content and settled. Centered seemed like an adequate description. Aziraphale also seemed to be experiencing the same liveliness. He laughed more. His complexion had improved. There was a certain spark in his angel’s eyes that had been lacking. This all must be a dream, but it was one he never wanted to wake from. He couldn’t let himself way from this. Today, Crowley would profess his love and desire to become Aziraphale’s partner.
Crowley would have loved to just stand and daydream about this life, but instead, he got himself moving. While setting up his mic and equipment, the rocker sang to himself as he worked as a bit of warm up. This afternoon Aziraphale and he were recording a duet – the first of many – and honestly, he had not been so excited to record some tracks. It took about an hour (he’d been early to the studio, by the way) but everything was set up.
Aziraphale, though, was late. It was only five minutes. However, that wasn’t his normal behavior. Aziraphale was a fifteen minutes early sort of chap. Maybe the traffic was rubbish, Crowley reasoned. Maybe there was an accident. He did not allow himself to think about the chance that Aziraphale had gotten into an accident.
He did a sound check and then another and another. Fifteen more minutes had gone by. Surely, Aziraphale would be here any moment - any moment now. After another five minutes, he barked to the crew to go get a snack and then felt horrible doing so. Once alone, he pulled out his mobile phone.
Aziraphale’s number was on speed dial. As this was a flip phone (no smart phones for him), it took him a moment to find ‘Angel’ in the listings. He punched it and brought it to his ear. Just as he did, the sound of Aziraphakle’s ring tone filled the hallway just beyond the door. Miffed, Crowley snapped the phone closed and tossed it onto the couch that lined the side wall.
“Crowley? Is everything all right?” Aziraphale asked once in the room. “You look like you’ve been in a fight with a sodden raccoon.”
Crowley couldn’t help himself, he glanced at his reflection. His clothes were soaked and face splotchy from all the work he’d been doing in the studio that morning. His hair was a mess. Aziraphale was right. “Fine,” was his answer – that’s all (nothing more and nothing less). “Where the bloody hell have you been? You’re late! You’re never late.”
“I’m… I’m late. Besides, it’s not been that long. What was it, five minutes? Seven,” Aziraphale asked while taking off mittens followed by his coat, scarf, and hat. He hung them on the coat rack in the corner of the room – his was the only one hanging up, the rest were lying in a heap around the rack.
“Try nearly thirty,” Crowley said. “What happened? I thought. I thought. I thought, well I thought something had happened to you! What if you’d been by the side of the road? What if you’d felt peckish again and couldn’t get to the hospital. I still don’t know what happened back then, but it could happen again!”
“I’m fine. I’m more than fine. Oh, Crowley, I’ve got the most marvelous news,” Aziraphale professed. He took the rocker’s hands in his and gave a good squeeze. “Gabriel came to me last night.”
“No,” Crowley said. It was short. It sounded pained. It sounded fearful. It sounded angry. He stood still and waited. “No. No. No. Tell me you sit his sorry ass packing.”
“Crowley, he might be challenging to be around sometimes, but he really is lovely. He can be kind. He can be caring. He is worldly. He’s grounded. He knows what he likes and goes after it. He’s very assertive.”
“He’s controlling. He’s apathetic. It’s his way or no one’s way. If he doesn’t get what he wants, it’s hell to pay,” Crowley countered. “And as soon as he has no use for you, you’re gone.”
“That was the old him! He told me he changed. He told me the night I had to go to the hospital it made him realize what a mistake he’d made. He came to me with sushi. Sushi, Crowley, and told me he loved me,” Aziraphale said, swinging Crowley’s arms back and forth. “We’re back together.”
Crowley’s body deflated. He pulled his hands away from Aziraphale and stuck them into his pocket. “I see,” he said.“Very well. I can’t tell you what to do with your life. It’s yours. Let’s get to work.”
“I thought you’d be happy for me,” Aziraphale countered, grabbing his equipment while talking. “Don’t you want me happy?”
“Of course,” Crowley said, putting on his own headset and going to the microphone just as the rest of the band returned to the studio. He glared at all of them, a silent warning about refraining from asking what was going on. “We’ve got a long day. Let’s get it started.”
He signaled to the bass guitar. The first notes filled the room. Then the drums started. Then came the electric guitar. Then, he started singing and then Aziraphale. It was a symphony of sounds. The anger and hurt fueled the session. “You never listen to the truth,” Crowley growled.
“What is the truth?” sang Aziraphale. His brow puckered. These were not the right lyrics. It was the right instrumentals, though, and so everyone just seemed to go for it even with the confusion.
“You never listen to your head1You listen to your heart instead,” came Crowley’s return. “And you play a dangerous game.” He held the microphone tight in his hands (he preferred a handheld mic to one that hung overhead or pinned to his ear.
The song ended with some strums on the guitar. The band stood there looking at each other in shock. What had just happened? Crowley couldn’t even believe what occurred. It was a mighty fine argument disguised as a song.
“Go live your life, Aziraphale. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Crowley remarked. He grabbed his phone and his jacket and stormed out of there. Aziraphale called after him, but he didn’t turn back. Crowley couldn’t.
Chapter 7: Chapter Seven
Chapter Text
Summer 2024 (Random Day in July)
Crowley sat there awhile longer. He did not keep track of the time passed. He barely registered the ticking of the clock, (it was one of those clocks that looked like a cat and had one of those tails that moved back and forth), as it marked the passage of time. His mind churned over the evening. The haunted, forlorn expression in Aziraphale’s eyes was certainly seared into his mind. The words, so full of pain and anguish flooded his mind. He never really had the best. He didn’t know what the best was, Crowley thought, recalling Aziraphale and Gabriel’s interactions. He didn’t know what it was supposed to be like. He thought what he had was the best that could be. I’m such an oblivious libertine. Shit. I shouldn’t have pushed him like that. I should… I should….
He should not be punishing himself like this and he knew that, but Crowley couldn’t really help it. I can fix this. I can do things right, the rocker reasoned. He shoved himself off the couch. Wavering on the spot, he paused so as to get his bearings. He was still inebriated. There’d be no driving for him – at least not yet.
Crowley grabbed a couple of the biscuit Aziraphale made for him. Ensuring that his wallet was still with him, he left the apartment and munched on the delectable sweet treat. It was soft and flavorful. The raisins burst in his mouth. Both were gone by the time he found himself in front of a florist shop.
He had not planned to stop anywhere. He just wanted to get back to the charity concert. The flowers called to him though. Aziraphale, he reasoned, would love a bouquet and so Crowley had to stop. He chose a dozen purple roses, paid and headed to the venue.
Wanting to surprise him, Crowley opted to go into the back. He did not want to make a fuss or draw attention away from Aziraphale in his moment, thus this seemed like the best option. He did get stopped, but after explaining how he was with the band, he was allowed to enter. That was easy. Part of him wished it had been harder. That ease of events felt like it was going to end in disaster.
Music filtered from the stage. The drums and guitars sounded heavenly, but what else could be expected with Aziraphale involved? Everything that angelic man touched turned to gold. Distracted by thoughts and still feeling a bit drunk, he only heard bits of pieces of the song.
… personality flaws
… take accountability
…metaphysical
…mistake with me
Crowley’s eyes widened. He knew those lyrics. Aziraphale was singing a cover. He knew them from there, of course. It had been awhile since he listened to that song, but the tune was familiar. However, he recognized the music for another reason. Aziraphale had woven them into a conversation they shared. Pushing himself away from the wall, he moved to watch.
At that moment, Aziraphale turned his head. His face was paler than usual. His lips were ashy. Sweat clung to his hair line. “Do you ever see someone and think "Wow, God must hate me",” Aziraphale sang. His voice softened with each syllable. As ‘me’ trailed off, he crumpled to the ground. The dream stopped. Now there was a nightmare.
The paramedics were called. Upon arrival, Aziraphale was soon loaded into an ambulance. Crowley climbed in behind him. He’d left Aziraphale before. He wasn’t about to leave him again. He watched as the paramedics hooked Aziraphale him to heart monitors and oxygen. They worked fast (almost as fast as the speed they traveled. All the while, Aziraphale and Crowley locked eyes and they stayed that way for the whole trip. Nothing said. Nothing needed said. Their gaze said it all.
~*~
Autumn 2019 (Halloween)
Crowley never needed an excuse to celebrate. If there was a chance to dress up and drink booze he was there for it. He donned some red devil horns and tail as well as an all black ensemble (which were just items from his closet) and a pair of Prada boots. The Devil Wears Prada was the first movie he’d seen in a long time that he absolutely loved and could not resist the pun.
Tonight, there was a chance to dress up and perform. The local dive that Crowley and his band often played at was having a Halloween shindig. They’d hired Crowley’s band to perform for the crowd. Crowley was happy to oblige. Lately he’d been a serial dater. Every week (sometimes every night) there was someone new – unless he was performing on stage. These dates were more hookups than anything. For the most part, there’d be wine and then a performance in the bedroom that was meant for a crowd of two. It wasn’t healthy. That was obvious, but he needed a distraction. He needed to forget about Aziraphale. It didn’t work.
As he sang the monster mash song, he scanned the crowd. Aziraphale had not shown up, yet. He fully expected him to pop in at any time. Aziraphale and Crowley talked at length about Halloween and costume parties. This would be right up his alley. After his first song, he sang another spooky song – this one from Rocky Horror Picture Show – and then a hard rock cover of Somebody’s Watching Me.
Aziraphale still had not arrived and Crowley could not help but to be disappointed at how the evening was turning out. Whatever, he thought, wrinkling his nose. If he doesn’t want to come – fine. It doesn’t matter to me. He knew he was lying to himself.
“We’re taking five, folks. Go get a pint or two and get ready to rock out with the next set,” Crowley said. This was a scheduled break for which he was glad. He needed a breather. Performing exhausted him even though Crowley could not imagine doing anything else in his life.
Heading off the stage, Crowley went to the bathroom and stared at his reflection. A tired, sad face stared in return. He slopped some water on his cheeks and patted it dry with a paper towel. Reapplying his eyeliner, he was back on stage within the five minute intermission and was back to playing right after it was over. They started off with the Ghostbusters’s theme and transitioned into ‘I Put a Spell on You’.
It was then Aziraphale arrived with Gabriel stomping after him. Aziraphale was dressed like Westley from The Princess Bride and Gabriel was either wearing his usual outfit or going as Fox Mulder, but Crowley wasn’t sure. He was trying to pay attention to singing his song, but it was starting to be drowned out by Aziraphale and Gabriel arguing.
“I told you not to wear that. You look like you’re wearing a trash bag!” Gabriel growled.
“I can wear whatever I bloody hell want to wear. You don’t own me,” Aziraphale retorted, whirling on his heel. “And I had no interest dressing like a gangster. That’s your era, not mine.”
“Of course I own you. Where will you live? Who will take you to those appointments? It’s not like you can drive and the doctor said walking was a big no-no. You’d be nothing with me,” Gabriel shouted. “You will never be anything. You’re just a dependent leech who takes and takes and takes and never gives.”
“I’m sorry I’m not perfect. I’m sorry I can’t provide intimately. I’m sorry I can’t provide financially or even physically,” Aziraphale spat with hatred burning his eyes. “I’m sorry I don’t fit your picture of desire.”
“Don’t fit my picture of desire? Oh, Aziraphale, you pathetic, broken man… you are far beyond my picture of desire. You are damaged. It’s no wonder no one wants you,” Gabriel mocked. “Who would? I was doing you a favor.”
“Doing me a favor would be leaving me alone,” Aziraphale said, lip curling under into a snarl. “We’re done. You… you keep everything of mine. I don’t…. I don’t want any of it.”
“Fine. Don’t come crawling back. If you do, I will have you arrested for trespassing,” Gabriel spat. He turned on his heel and stomped out without another word.
The bar had gone eerily quiet. Crowley had found himself transfixed to his spot. He couldn’t move. That was a good thing because he was unsure what he’d do to Gabriel if he’d been able to get his hands on him. After a moment, he hopped off the stage and approached Aziraphale. The angelic man stared at the ground with his mouth agape.
“You were right,” he whispered in tone of utter defeat. “I was a fool. I am a pathetic, broken fool. He was right.” His lip quivered. His body did as well. The movements had turned into a complete shivering on the spot.
Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and pulled him to his chest. “No. No. No. You are not a fool. You are not pathetic. You are kind and caring and gentle. You are so very good. You aren’t broken.”
“But, I am. I am broken. No one wants me. My heart is…damaged… and has been since I was born. My soul struggles from mental illness. I am utterly broken,” Aziraphale sobbed into Crowley’s shoulder. “I am broken.”
“No. You aren’t,” Crowley whispered, stroking his hair. “You are just as you are supposed to be. You are perfect in your own way.”
For a long while they just stood there, holding each other. Aziraphale sobbed into Crowley’s shirt. Crowley stroked his hair and back. Nothing was said. Nothing needed said. The moment was only broken by the ding of the midnight bell and Aziraphale reluctantly pulled away. With a promise to call him again, he left. He not call and they did not see each other until that random July day in 2024.
StoriesDevourer on Chapter 7 Sat 05 Oct 2024 07:44PM UTC
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Kay_Drew on Chapter 7 Sun 27 Oct 2024 03:56AM UTC
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