~ Aziraphale's Perspective ~
Present Day.
Aziraphale was baffled. Crowley had gone home, and Aziraphale had returned to his bookshop, hanging his umbrella by the door. It was almost always raining in London, so Aziraphale's umbrella was pretty much always wet. He had pondered over Crowley's words the whole way back.
"You should know! You used to know!", Crowley had said. What had he meant by 'used' to know? Crowley had never spoken about his life as an angel until that day. Perhaps he had mentioned it before, and Aziraphale had simply forgotten? Surely something like that wouldn't have slipped his mind so easily. While Aziraphale was deep in thought, the small bell rang jingled at the door. The angel, who had now positioned himself on the couch, was utterly confused. He had put up the sign that read 'closed'. Who could possibly be here at this hour? Customers?
"We're closed!" Aziraphale called, getting up anyway.
"Surely not to me," The visitor called. Aziraphale recognised the voice immediately and scrambled over to his desk, reaching underneath the bottom drawer. He slowly slid out a blade, one that, as soon as it came into contact with his hand, burst into controlled, burning flames. He kept his hand on the handle, the only part not on fire. He held it behind his back as he crept towards the door, closer to the voice who had just let himself in.
"Aziraphale!" He called, "I know you're here!"
"Gabriel," Aziraphale greeted him, his voice shaking, just like his hands. Gabriel smiled, his perfect, fake smile. His hair was silver, neatly trimmed, and matched his suit jacket and trousers. His shirt, underneath the jacket, was white, and his tie was grey. His eyes were light violet, and his skin was slightly less pale than Aziraphale, though still fair. He was tall, maybe taller than Crowley, and much less lanky and thin. Unlike Crowley, Gabriel walked with proper posture and knew how walking worked. His hands were neatly folded behind his back, and something like pride shone behind his eyes.
"Aziraphale, really," He began, gesturing towards the sword, "There's no need for such drastic measures."
"O-of course not," Aziraphale said shyly, lowering the sword a tad but not loosening his grip, "I was afraid you might have been... Someone else."
"Who would dare approach one of God's angels? Aziraphale, don't be silly. Unless..." He narrowed his eyes, "You aren't still hanging around the demon... Crowley, are you?"
"No, no! I would never betray our side like that!" Aziraphale said nervously. Gabriel's fake smile vanished.
"In case you've forgotten, Aziraphale, you already have betrayed our side and failed the Almighty. You don't have a side."
At Aziraphale's silence, the corner's of Gabriel's mouth tilted up once more.
"But of course, the Almighty favours you still. She, unfortunately, has seen that there is no use in She is willing to give you another chance. All it would take is one mission - one task - and you will no longer be a traitor to Heaven."
Aziraphale's heart lifted. A great weight that the angel had not been able to remove could be lifted... He wouldn't be a wanted angel in Heaven anymore. No more trouble, no more war. Things could be normal again! It was the perfect opportunity to be happy. He could have everything he'd ever hoped for. There would be no war, he wouldn't be hunted, there would be no more running... He'd have his title back again.
Oh, Crowley would be so pleased! Aziraphale would tell him right away!
"Anything," Aziraphale begged, "I'd do anything for peace."
Gabriel nodded, swinging an arm around Aziraphale, smiling that awful, fake smile. Aziraphale didn't have to like Gabriel to be happy.
"I know you would. You always come around. We all knew you would do the right thing."
"If I may ask... What is the task I must complete in order to achieve this?"
"The task is simple, and is to be done by next month. You are to do whatever is necessary to ensure that the demon Crowley trusts you. At the end of the month, we want him terminated."
Azirapahle's eyes widened in horror. Oh, no. No, no, no.
"Me? You want me to... to... kill him?" Aziraphale squeaked.
"Well, yes. He's a demon. It's your job, Aziraphale, to do so."
"B-but... He's been my enemy for six thousand years! H-he's much too clever to be fooled by me!" Aziraphale protested.
"It almost sounds like you like him."
"Now, Gabriel, let's not jump t-to conclusions -"
"I want him dead by the end of the month. Is that clear?"
"If I fail?"
"Then Heaven will hunt you down and terminate you. Understood?"
Aziraphale tried not to tremble as he nodded.
"Understood."
"Good," Gabriel said, giving Aziraphale a pat on the back and forcing a smile. Then the archangel Gabriel vanished with a flash of white light.
~ Crowley's Perspective ~
He'd left things off on a bad note with Aziraphale. Crowley had been thinking about it non stop since he'd gotten in the car. His eyes moved to his phone, lying disgraced on the passenger's seat. He glanced up at the road, moving his sunglasses down slightly. He placed one hand on the wheel and grabbed his phone, holding the home button.
"Call Aziraphale," He told it, putting it down and swerving to avoid hitting another car.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" The robotic voice answered. Crowley rolled his eyes.
"You heard me the first time, you piece of rubbish. Call Aziraphale."
Crowley had two contacts saved in his phone. 'Angel' and 'Princess'. Also known as Aziraphale and Beelzebub. In that order.
In case you were wondering, Hastur did not have a phone, and Ligur, now being dead, was the place where Crowley sent messages to laugh about his murder. And yes, it was necessary.
"I'm sorry, no number of this contact is saved. Please try again."
"CALL AZ-IR-A-PHALE!" Crowley yelled at the phone.
"Searching for 'A zippy bell'..."
"NO!" Crowley cursed at his phone, pulling to the side of the road and grabbing the phone in his hands. He dialled the angel's number into the phone and waited.
Nothing.
Crowley groaned in frustration. Where was Aziraphale at eleven o'clock at night?! Reading, if he'd had to guess. Though the angel always found time for him too. He always answered Crowley's phone calls, no matter what.
"Whatever," Crowley decided, "I'm going home." He turned the corner, not bothering to signal. No one behind him, no one in front, no cops... It would have been a good night. He pulled over outside his flat, getting out of his car, closing and locking the door behind him.
The inside of the flat was dark and gloomy. He gently pulled off his sunglasses, letting no one but the houseplants and dust bunnies see his eyes. He barely even took off his glasses with Aziraphale. He liked it better when the angel couldn't see his eyes, so as to not be reminded of Crowley's demonic nature. Crowley hated his eyes. And if Aziraphale couldn't see them, he felt safer. Always hiding behind some sort of defence.
It was the tiniest things that bothered him. The smallest things that upset him. He liked to think he was all tough and bad-ass, the coolest demon (not to mention one of the only demons) to have ever walked the planet. He liked to ignore what humans called emotions, convincing himself he was just imaging the feeling. Demons were supposed to feel good emotions like he had at the park.
Crowley swaggered over to the window, watching the cars go by. The lights whizzed past, just like the shooting stars Aziraphale had taken him to see. He could see his reflection in the window, the reflection of his yellow snake eyes.
He put his sunglasses back on.
He hated his eyes. They were evil and ugly. He hated his black wings, too. Both him and Aziraphale kept them tucked away from the eyes of humans, but he still knew they were there. He hated almost every aspect of himself, and he had ever since he'd Fallen.
Crowley turned away from the window and made his way over to the grey counters, turning the tap on and filling a spray bottle with water. He dragged himself into the hallway, looking at the moonlight that shone into the room, sparkling off the houseplants. He raised an eyebrow at them.
"There better not be any... Spots." He said quietly, and the plants began to rustle. He went around, watering each one gently. The only sound now was from his shoes as he made his way to the end, where his best grown plant was. It was tall, it's leaves were vibrant green and lush.
But now something had changed about it. He eyes it up and down, spotting something that hadn't been there before. He bared his teeth.
"WHAT IN SATAN'S NAME IS THIS?!" He demanded, watching the plants quiver, their leaves brushing one another in fear.
"Is that... A FLOWER?!" His voice echoed off the empty walls. He stared at the soft pink petals in fury.
"YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO GROW FLOWERS! THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!" Crowley plucked the flower from it's wine and crumpled it in his hands, throwing it on the floor.
"No. More. Flowers." He snarled, walking away from the plants and leaving them in the dark hallway. The house plants were what Crowley took everything out on. And by everything, he meant everything.
But all affairs aside, Crowley was lonely. So lonely that when Aziraphale was busy, he'd resorted to talking to plants. Crowley finally went to his bedroom and sank onto his bed, taking his sunglasses off. He did have pajamas, he just never bothered changing into them. They were comfortable, sure, but he only wore them when he was going to sleep for a very, very long time. The longest he'd slept for was an entire century, and he would do it again without hesitation. The one pair of pajamas he did have were made of black silk, a long sleeve shirt with buttons and thin pants. Crowley didn't bother pulling the black covers of his bed sheets over him, and instead stretched out his wings and wrapped them around himself. His feathers were warm enough, though, he could always use sixteen more blankets. Crowley stared into the dark for a while, thinking. He hated Gabriel, and he hated Heaven. He hated them all for making his Angel forget him. Aziraphale would never know that they had been angels together in Heaven once. He would never remember how Crowley had cried and called for him, begging the angel to save him.
"I'll catch you. I promise."
He hadn't caught Crowley. He hadn't even tried. The demon doubted he'd even shed a single tear, or one ounce of grief over him after he'd Fallen. No one cared about him. But he loved Aziraphale. Or at least, that's what he told himself.
As an angel, he'd known what love had felt like. As a demon, he was never meant to experience the emotion at all. But with Aziraphale, nothing had changed. His heart still fluttered with sparks when he looked at him, and he could never stop thinking about him. He could name ten million things he loved about that angel, and he would give anything to know his Angel loved him too. All the other demons constantly told him that there was no way he could love, and they were all convinced Crowley was insane. But Crowley knew he wasn't. He knew what love was, and he knew he felt it with Aziraphale. He knew every detail of his best friend, the way he walked, talked, smiled... All of it. And he thought it was surly impossible that Aziraphale felt the same. After all, what sort of angel could love a demon? He wondered, in all the nine circles of Hell, if it was possible for Aziraphale to have forgotten him as an angel and fallen in love with the very same person, all over again.
Then he wondered if it was possible to fall in love at all.
His heart was filled with golden light, something a demon never saw. The light reminded him of Aziraphale's halo, and he knew he was dreaming. Dreaming or on the break of it. He curled into a smaller ball, and wiped away the only tear that fell from his eyes. One day, his angel would love him.
The next day, he hadn't wasted a moment that morning and had gotten dressed as fast as magic would allow him. Unlike Heaven, Hell had no rules. Angels weren't allowed to perform miracles for unnecessary things. Whereas, demons could (If they were able to) perform any kind of spell that would help do their job. Crowley was the best at magic in all of Hell, only because of his imagination. It was something that no other demon had, something he didn't even know why he had it. The only rules Hell had against magic were that no holy things of any sorts could enter Hell, and Demons could not murder other demons. Back in the day, those rules had been perfectly reasonable and Crowley had never once thought about murdering anyone. He hated war, and killing, and all sorts of things demons were supposed to enjoy. He found it to be morbid, awful, unnecessary and a waste of effort. The only people he wanted dead were people who wanted him dead.
Right about now that consisted of both all of Heaven and Hell.
He wasn't in a very good place, but he was sure there was a worse place than this. For example, if Azirphale ever came to his senses and started hating him, that would be the worst possible outcome. Oh, and, if the war started. Or if all of those things happened and then someone killed Aziraphale. THAT would officially be the worst thing that could ever happen to him in six thousand years. So you see, things could have been worse. He was no optimist, but... Yeah. Well, that's it. He wasn't an optimist. He'd nearly given up three times in the last month while trying to prevent Armageddon. If it hadn't been for Aziraphale, he would have never pulled his crap together and saved the world.
Crowley grabbed his keys from the counter and hopped in the Bentley, playing Queen as he drove over to Aziraphale's bookshop. It wasn't very far, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes from Crowley's flat. Speeding through Central London he could make it in ten. On his way over to the shop, he spotted a small stand with a young gentleman selling ice creams. He stared for a moment and then stopped, getting out and going over to the stand.
"One vanilla ice cream and a strawberry lolly," He told the man, who nodded and handed them to Crowley, who in return, handed him a few pounds. Crowley got back in his car, holding his lolly in his mouth and the other ice cream in the other hand. Now, it was the task of driving fast without dropping anything. He swerved around cars that didn't even have time to honk at him as he passed by. He parked on the side of the road outside the Angel's shop and got out from his shiny black car. It was his most prized possession. Crowley didn't have too many things lying around. He only had what he needed. Along with a dozen back up pairs of his sunglasses, and two very similar outfits. He sauntered up to the door, not bothering with the bell and decided to let himself in.
"Angel!" He called cheerfully, "I've brought you something!"
"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked, looking up from his book at his desk. His eyes didn't light up at all. In fact, they only darkened. The angel always looked happy to see him. Something must be wrong.
"Are you alright, Angel?" He asked, frowning.
"Of course I am!" Aziraphale said quickly, smiling again, "Is that for me?" He asked brightly.
"Thought I'd find an excuse to swing by," Crowley told him, handing Aziraphale the vanilla ice cream cone. The angel beamed.
"Thank you, dear. You really are the nicest -"
"Shut up." Crowley interrupted, his cheeks turning the colour of his lolly. Aziraphale chuckled lightly, sitting back down at his desk. Crowley sat in the chair across from it, crossing one leg over the other.
"So," Aziraphale began, "I was thinking... You've never had much company from what I know, and Heaven and Hell are still looking for us both."
"Hell won't bother me," Crowley said, "They don't care. If they wanted me dead, they would have sent a letter."
"Heaven doesn't operate like that," Aziraphale sighed, "Though it would be much more convenient if they did. I know they want me out of the way of their war, I just don't know how they intend to do so. I was thinking it might be safer for the both of us if... If we didn't spend so much time alone at night."
"Scared, Angel?" Crowley teased, getting and going over to Aziraphale's desk. He rested his elbows on his and leaned towards the angel. "No one's going to hurt you."
Aziraphale smiled gratefully.
"I just think it would be better if you spent the night here, at the book shop."
Crowley almost choked on his lolly. His whole face lit up, but he tried his best to hide it.
"Yes! Yes I'd love that!" Crowley chirped, "I mean - sure. Of course. I'll stick around - only to protect us both."
"You don't have to pretend, Crowley," Aziraphale said softly, "I know you're excited."
Crowley cleared his throat.
"Just a tad. I've never had a sleepover."
"It's not a sleepover -"
"Yes it is. It's you and I, sleeping at your place. What else are you supposed to call that?"
"A precaution?"
Crowley rolled his eyes.
"Whatever you say, Angel." He sighed, "But you know what we have to do,"
Aziraphale blinked in confusion, still smiling.
"Sleep?"
"Do you know anything about sleepovers?" Crowley asked, "Of course we're not sleeping! We have to build a fort!"
Aziraphale looked at Crowley, his eyes filled with sparkles and sunshine.
"Your eyes are awfully pretty today," Crowley mooned, "If God made an ocean of holy water he must have put it inside your eyes."
"Um, Crowley, the Almighty certainly has not made an ocean out of holy water.Are you feeling alright, my dear?" The angel asked. Crowley repressed the urge to slap his forehead.
"Aziraphale, do you know what a crush is?" Crowley asked.
"I am familiar with the term, yes. Why?"
"Well... I think I'm in love with someone."
Aziraphale looked suddenly very alarmed.
"Crowley, my dear, you're a demon! You can't love."
"I know, I know..." Crowley sighed, pretending not to be hurt by that comment. If he really was unable to love... Why was it that every time Aziraphale rejected him it hurt so much? Surely that was love. Crowley knew he loved Aziraphale.
"Whenever I'm around them, it feels like it did when I was an angel."
Aziraphale fell silent.
"Oh? This person makes you... Feel like that?"
"They do. The problem is... They don't know I'm in love with them."
"You can't be in love, Crowley. Perhaps you've made another acquaintance?"
"Maybe. But they still don't know about it. I'm being so obvious, all the time... Going out of my way to do... To do..."
"Do what?"
"...Nice... things for them. I always take their side, and I gave up everything so that we could be together. But no matter what I do, they can't take a hint."
"Maybe it's because you're a..."
"You can say it." Crowley said grimly, "I'm a demon, I can't love and no one would ever love me. I know."
Aziraphale looked at Crowley with such great amounts of grief and pity Crowley wanted to hug him. He was so sweet... So innocent.
"Why don't you try telling them?" Aziraphale suggested, "Tell them you... Erm, love them -" Aziraphale almost couldn't say the word when referring to Crowley. That hurt the demon's little heart more than he cared to admit. "- And see what they say."
"I suppose that's reasonable. But... How?"
"Just go up to them and tell them."
"Oh... Okay. I love you." Crowley felt an enormous weight lift of his chest, a burden he'd been carrying for years finally not his to hold. And Aziraphale...
"That's it! Just tell them that! You go and get them!"
I AM TALKING ABOUT YOU, YOU IDIOT! Crowley's head screamed.
Crowley had officially lost all hope for this angel. HOW had he not been able to tell?! HE COULD READ EMOTIONS.
Unless... Unless they were right. Maybe Crowley couldn't love Aziraphale after all. Maybe he was just imagining it all. Crowley closed his eyes behind his sunglasses. He knew one thing for sure. Aziraphale didn't love him, and he never would.
But one question remained.
If Crowley couldn't love Aziraphale, why was his heart breaking?