Chapter Text
There’s something very romantic about the idea that two souls are destined to be, isn’t there? Not quite in a soulmates sense, where individuals are assigned a partner at their creation, but rather that no matter the universe, no matter the circumstances, certain people will end up finding each other. All matter of material details regarding the individuals could be changed, and yet no matter the combination, their bond remains constant. Their love, in the end, supersedes all outside forces.
Now, it’s been established that for such a couple, literally every single detail of their story could be shifted and they would still end up together. This particular story does shift a remarkable number of details from the version most commonly known. But interestingly enough, there is one in particular that happens to remain the same. It might not seem significant, but the reader may be interested to know that today, our story starts, as it will end, with a garden.
“Oh, well, er...I gave it away.”
“You what? ”
Aziraphale and Crowley were the only two first graders that had yet to be picked up from school. They huddled together under the crab apple tree that stood the school garden, though ‘garden’ may have been a bit of an overstatement: it was really just a small plot of dirt that housed the tree and a couple large planters at the edge of the playground. So the street view was nice, supposedly. The point is, it had just started absolutely pouring rain, the teacher who really ought to have been supervising them was nowhere in sight, and poor Aziraphale did not have an umbrella. So, he had fled to the tree in an attempt to shelter from the storm, and Crowley, though garbed in a truly ridiculously large black raincoat, had followed out of solidarity.
Upon reaching the rather ineffective shelter of the tree, Crowley had taken a look at Aziraphale and asked, “Didn’t you have an umbrella? You did, didn’t you? I saw you with it this morning, I remember because I thought it was super cool, had flames on it and everything. Oh no,” he added, as the dramatic tendencies common to young minds overtook him, “you didn’t lose it, did you?” To Crowley, it seemed that in this moment, the round boy with the fluffy hair surprisingly lighter than his skin tone losing his umbrella was possibly the worst thing to have ever happened to either of them. The end of the world, even.
To Crowley’s relief, Aziraphale responded with a “No,” going on to explain how he had given his umbrella to their classmate Eve when he had noticed that she was “already getting sick, I think she had a cold, she was coughing and everything, and I just thought she could use it more than I could!”
“Oh,” said Crowley, “Well, it’s not quite an umbrella, but if I took my coat off we could probably hold it up over both of our heads? What’s your name, by the way? We aren’t in the same class.”
“Oh! Thank you,” said Aziraphale gratefully, and proceeded to tell the scrawny Japanese boy whose coat he was sharing his name.
The boy looked very awkward, before asking, “You don’t...uh...have any nicknames, do you? Just cause your name’s kinda hard to say...like, it’s not my real name but you can call me Crowley?”
Aziraphale scrunched up his nose as he thought for a moment. “I don’t know, Crowley,” he said, “I’ve never really liked any of the nicknames people come up with for me. Did you know,” he said, with an air about him that indicated this was something he was very excited to inform Crowley of, “that ‘Aziraphale’ is the name of an angel?”
At that, Crowley had an idea. “I could call you ‘angel’? Cause it’s easier to say, and I think I can spell it, and since it’s what your name, well, is the name of, it’s not taking anything away from it, I guess?”
Aziraphale had geared himself up to say no and attempt to teach Crowley how to pronounce his name, but to his surprise, he found himself saying, “...Yes, actually. I think that’ll be okay.”
“Alright then, angel.”
(Crowley did eventually learn to pronounce Aziraphale’s name, but the nickname stuck nonetheless. Though as they got older it began to be the sort of thing only used when it was just the two of them. At some point around middle school they realized that ‘angel’ was sometimes used as a pet name, and that certain people would not react well to two boys using such names for each other. And it wasn’t a pet name with them, anyways, it was simply because Aziraphale was named after an angel. Not that most of those inclined to harass them took the time to listen to that explanation.)
As soon as Aziraphale was old enough to walk home from school alone, be at home alone, and make his own dinner, alone, that is what he found himself doing, most days. At least, until Crowley found out and showed up one day outside his house on his bicycle, with an invitation to come over for dinner, “because my mom made way too much soup, and if it doesn’t get eaten then I have to take the leftovers to school in a thermos. And the only thermoses we have are tartan!”
“Tartan is stylish,” Aziraphale pointed out.
“It’s really not,” said Crowley, “but even if it was, I don’t wanna be the kid with the thermos soup. Thermos soup kids aren’t cool .”
Aziraphale giggled at Crowley’s petulant facial expression, then said “I do want to come over for dinner, though. Even though I would still think you’re cool if you were a thermos soup kid.”
“Course you would, you’re my best friend. Now hop on!” He gestured to the bike.
Aziraphale looked affronted at the mere suggestion. “I am not sitting on the handlebars of your bike! There’s no way I’ll be able to keep my balance! Not with the way you ride, anyways.”
“Fine,” grumbled Crowley. “We’ll walk over.”
When they arrived at Crowley’s house, Aziraphale made sure to take off his shoes at the door and then headed into the kitchen, where Crowley’s mother was making sushi. Aziraphale watched, rapt, as she deftly laid the ingredients out on the bamboo mat, rolled it up, and sliced it into perfect little cylinders.
“That looks wonderful, Mrs—?”
“Oh, you can call me Eden,” Crowley’s mother smiled at him. “Do you want to try?”
Aziraphale very much did want to try.
Eventually, this became something of a routine. Aziraphale stopped holding out hope that his parents would grant him more of their time, and took to simply heading straight over to Crowley’s place. Eden would let Aziraphale help cook dinner, and he and Crowley would hang out together, trading study tips, exploring the city, or just sitting together and talking. Despite their rather different interests, they could both listen to the other go on for hours.
When Crowley formed a band, Aziraphale was at every gig, beaming his support from the side of the stage. When Aziraphale wanted to try out a new recipe, Crowley was the first in line to taste test. Everyone thought that the two of them would be best friends (or quite possibly more than just friends , though it was never directly addressed) for, well, forever. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that they wouldn’t let something so insignificant as moving out for college dampen the strength of their friendship. And that probably would’ve been the case, were it not for a rather unlucky series of events culminating in the two not speaking for 15 years.
It started in the middle of summer, and Crowley got the news while drunk.
The two of them would presumably be heading off to college soon, and as such were trying to spend as much time in the other’s physical presence before the inevitable separation. Predictably, Aziraphale’s parents weren’t home, and so Crowley had tempted him into sampling some wine from his parents’ stash. They were sat together on Aziraphale’s bed, passing the bottle back and forth and leaning on each other perhaps a touch more than they would have done while sober, when the doorbell rang.
It was Crowley’s father. There had been an accident, and his mother was dead.
And Crowley was there in the doorway, wobbling around even more so than how he insisted was “just how I walk, angel, not all of us can have perfect posture!”
There are plenty of unfavorable situations in which to be caught drinking underage. “When your mom has just died” was not one Crowley had ever thought to be prepared for.
The next few weeks were rough for everyone. Aziraphale was at the funeral, of course; over the years he had practically spent more waking hours at their home than his own. Following Eden’s death, however, the door that had been open to Aziraphale his whole life was suddenly closed. Whether that was Crowley himself pushing Aziraphale away or his father’s insistence on taking time to “grieve as a family” (aka staring blankly off into space while Crowley attempted to take care of him), it was nearly a month before Aziraphale was able to get Crowley to come out of the house with him.
When he did, a mostly silent drive brought them to an empty parking lot a bit above the beach. Tentatively, Aziraphale pressed the play button for whatever CD happened to be in the car’s CD player. It was Best of Queen.
“Sorry about that,” said Crowley tonelessly. “I think I might have other music in the glove compartment?”
Aziraphale rummaged around for a bit, and then: “Ah...yes, yes you do. What’s a Velvet Underground?”
“Oh...uh...you wouldn’t like it.”
“Ah. Bebop.”
At that, Crowley spluttered, showing more emotion than he had the entire drive. “ Bebop? Do you know, Aziraphale, that if a million people were asked to describe the Velvet Underground, not one of them would use the term ‘bebop’?”
Aziraphale’s response to that was simply a prim smile. “Well. I suppose that makes me one in a million, then.”
“Yeah,” said Crowley softly, distracted. “I suppose it does.”
Aziraphale’s only response was to gaze at Crowley with an inscrutable look on his face, as Crowley slowly realized exactly how much repressed tenderness he had put into that statement. He didn’t have time to reach the panic stage though, because Aziraphale leaned over and kissed him right on the mouth.
However, before Crowley’s lizard brain could demand that he deepen the kiss, Aziraphale pulled back. It was dark out, but Crowley was fairly certain that if he turned the dim car lights on, he would just be able to see a familiar blush spreading across his friend’s cheeks.
“S-s-so sorry, Crowley,” Aziraphale stammered, wringing his hands. “I just...I don’t know what came over me, I— mmfph! ”
Crowley had leaned over himself, seizing Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kissing him right back. And perhaps he didn’t really know what came over him, either, but he did know that he was kissing Aziraphale, and Aziraphale was kissing back. And it felt very nice.
This time, neither of them hesitated to deepen the kiss.
Needless to say, the bobbleheaded duck figurine sitting on the dashboard was very traumatized by what happened next. It didn’t even have plastic eyelids to close, leaving it no choice but to observe the unfolding events. There was, however, a small part of its plastic duck brain (if such a thing were to exist) that reacted to the displays of passion from the car’s two occupants with a businesslike hmm. it was only a matter of time, really.
Afterward, they ended up lying tangled together in the back of Crowley’s Jeep. The entanglement wasn’t strictly necessary, given the ample amount of space folding down the back seat had afforded them, but neither Aziraphale nor Crowley made any move to separate themselves. In the aftermath of, well, what just happened , and the spontaneity of it, the idea of being the one to break the spell and return them to the real world of dead mothers and starting college was simply not appealing.
But of course, someone had to. In the end, it was Aziraphale.
“You know,” he remarked thoughtfully, “I think this might be the first time I’ve appreciated this ridiculous car you drive.”
“Huh?” Crowley was evidently still out of it. Unsurprising, really, it does take time to process the impromptu loss of your virginity to your best friend of what may as well be forever. Following the tragically early death of your mother. When you and said best friend both know the other isn’t straight but have been studiously avoiding addressing the possibility of the other as a romantic partner since hitting puberty.
“I said, this might be the first time I’ve been grateful that you drive this ridiculous vehicle.”
“Shut up,” mumbled Crowley, coming back to himself. “You love me and you love Bertha too.”
“Of course I l—wait, Bertha ?”
“The car,” Crowley answered. As if it was obvious. And the unspoken addendum: silly angel .
Neither of them acknowledged Crowley’s use of the suddenly much more charged L-word. ( Not ‘lesbians.’ Though Anathema was a lovely friend, she was not at the forefront of anyone’s mind at that moment.) Neither of them acknowledged Aziraphale nearly saying it back.
Eventually, Crowley asked, “Do you want to go get something to eat?”
“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “I think that would be very nice.”
Unfortunately, it was nearly midnight by then, so they ended up at a McDonald’s. Hardly Aziraphale’s idea of “very nice.”
Regardless, it was open and it was convenient, so Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves standing awkwardly inside the entrance. Crowley tried to wrap an arm around Aziraphale. “Tried” being the key word, as Crowley ended up misjudging and accidentally hitting Aziraphale in the head, eliciting an “ow!”
“Sorry,” said Crowley sheepishly. “I was just—”
Aziraphale cut him off. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” he said, ignoring the part of him that thought that it would be rather nice, actually, if Crowley were to do that. He didn’t want to make Crowley feel like he was obligated to, or anything.
“Oh...okay,” Crowley said awkwardly. Aziraphale told himself that he absolutely was not disappointed, and the two stood in silence for a few more moments, until an uncertain Aziraphale spoke up.
“Are we...you know, going to talk about it?”
“About what?” Despite the sunglasses Crowley insisted on wearing, even though it was nighttime and they were inside, Aziraphale could tell he was rather tired. Regardless, he pressed on.
“About...our relationship, I guess? It’s just that you’re acting odd.”
“Me, odd? No way. You’re acting odd.” Crowley’s fidgeting as he stated this only served to further Aziraphale’s conviction that Crowley was, in fact, acting odd. He stated at much, and Crowley stared blankly back. “I, uh, well, um, I just...ngk?”
“There!” said Aziraphale triumphantly. “You’re making those sounds! The ones without any vowels! That’s odd.”
“‘S not odd.”
“Alright then, so I suppose now would be a good time to talk about the fact that we engaged in intercourse?”
“You know you can just say ‘fucked,’ right? Or even ‘had sex,’ that would be fine too. You’re not eighty, angel. And it was your idea in the first place!”
“My idea?” blustered Aziraphale. “I just kissed you! That’s it! And I could’ve taken it back if you wanted, but clearly you didn’t, unless you slept with me because you felt bad for me, or something ridiculous like that…”
“No, no, of course not,: Crowley said quickly. “I just…” he trailed off as Aziraphale looked like he was about to start speaking again.
“Well, in that case, we both consented, we both enjoyed ourselves, so there’s no need to argue about who’s “fault” it is! What we ought to do is talk about what this means for our relationship! Like, are we dating now, and if so, what does that mean for when we go off to college, and…”
Crowley’s heart gave a little leap at “dating,” but quickly sank again at “college.” He looked up to see Aziraphale had stopped talking, steeled himself, and told him, “I’m not going to college.”
“What?” said Aziraphale. “When did you decide that? Why wouldn’t you go to college? And why didn’t you talk to me about this decision earlier?”
“You know,” responded Crowley bitterly, “I don’t have to explain everything to you. I don’t need to consult you before I make decisions. It’s not like we’re family, or dating, or anything! And I didn’t bring it up because I knew you’d try to argue with me about it!”
“I don’t think we’re arguing,” said Aziraphale softly. “And you know...we could be dating. I want to be here for you, Crowley. I know you’re hurting because you lost your mom, I get it. I lost her too.”
“But she wasn’t your mom, Aziraphale,” snapped Crowley. “She was my mom. Just because you were always at our house, eating our food, watching our TV, because your parents don’t care enough to ever be around, just because you were the model child I never could be, doesn’t mean that you can pull the whole “I know exactly how you feel” thing! Or that you have any measure of control over how I feel and the decisions I make!”
“I was at your house all the time because you wanted me there, Crowley. You invited me over. And your mom loved you a lot, obviously , and I don’t need you to be making me feel guilty about liking to cook! Just tell me you don’t want to date me, and go!” In the end, however, it was Aziraphale who went, marching out the door and only turning back to inform Crowley that he wouldn’t be needing a ride home, he’d call someone else to pick him up.
Crowley stood there in shock, staring blankly at the spot Aziraphale had vacated. He muttered a mocking “obviously!” It did not make him feel any better.
It was at that unfortunate moment that the cashier spoke up. “Welcome to McDonald’s, can I take your order? You can, uh, get it to go, you know, if you want to eat in your car and cry.”
Crowley glared at the cashier, who he—oh joy, truly the icing on the cake—recognized from school. “Shut up, Eric,” he snarled, and stalked out the door without buying anything.
So that was the last time either of them spoke to the other for the next 15 years. Crowley went home, fully intent on spending as much of the rest of summer sleeping as he possibly could. Aziraphale, on the other hand, downloaded a dating app, joined a Facebook group for incoming students at his college, and got permission to move into the dorms early, which he had wanted to do anyways, as he thought it would be nice to have more time to settle in. He resisted the urge to tell any of his new friends about Crowley.
Perhaps with outside influence Aziraphale and/or Crowley could have been pushed to get their head out of their ass and take the first steps to making up. Unfortunately, that rational outside perspective never came. Crowley’s father was too caught up in his own grief to notice that anything was wrong, Aziraphale’s parents wouldn’t have noticed anyways. Anathema was out of the country studying ley lines. The two of them were really the other’s only close friend at the time, and every time the thought to contact the other crossed either of their minds, it was quickly shoved to the furthest recesses of their brains.
So Aziraphale and Crowley adjusted to life without the other. It helped that after his initial departure, Aziraphale rarely returned to their hometown. Before they knew it, they had spent just as much of their lives apart as they had spent together, and were both convinced they were perfectly well adjusted. Lots of people didn’t stay in contact with their childhood friends.
But “lots of people” weren’t Aziraphale and Crowley.