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“So how long did your reign last then?”
“Oh, I wasn’t exactly keeping track, you know!”
His eyes are so shifty. Crowley has missed this menace more than air.
“Come on, an estimate then. A guess. I’m assuming you were in training for at least a week - “
“A month.” Aziraphale immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, whereas Crowley’s drops open in delight.
“A month!”
“It was really quite excessive,” he replies. “I mean, a whole month to discuss ‘policy changes’! I may not have been stationed there for a few millennia, but honestly. Why did I need to spend a month being told all of the rules that they brought me up in the first place to change?”
Crowley refuses to allow the deflection, feeling more delight than he knows what to do with. “You’ve only been gone for a month and a half! What on earth did you DO?”
“You don’t have to look so pleased,” Aziraphale huffs. “Really, this is your fault.”
“MY fault?” Crowley won’t laugh. He won’t. He’s still mad at Aziraphale, still hurt, still needs to make this foolish not-man see how much he fucked up - laughing won’t accomplish this.
“Yes! If you had accepted my offer, Heaven wouldn’t be - “ he waves vaguely at the chaos behind him, showing through the portal that hasn’t closed just yet. “You always know what to do, and you know I get distracted when I have a project, and I missed you quite terribly which was also very distracting, and how was I supposed to know that you’re not supposed to let everyone talk about their salaries and benefits and whatnot with each other! And I thought the ping pong table would increase morale, we had so much fun in the 80’s at that arcade, remember? Then you have the cherubs, and they were quite cross when I told them I had dabbled in a bit of matchmaking myself, seemed to think I was trying to ‘reorg’ their department, and I still don’t even know what ‘reorg’ means, and then Metatron was quite rude about questions which we all know I didn’t question anything until I met you, Mx. Questions Are My Thing, but he didn’t have to be so mean - “
As Aziraphale keeps babbling excuses and half-hearted accusations, his face full of embarrassed shame but also the tiniest, tiniest hint of wicked mischief - as legions of angels riot[1] in Heaven’s main foyer - as Michael’s arm reaches out of the rapidly shrinking portal and flails blindly, trying to pull herself out of Heaven too - Crowley can’t stop the wide grin on his face.
“This is, quite possibly, the best day of existence.”
—
This is all to say: Aziraphale did not remain supreme leader of Heaven for very long. Not because he was cast out or demoted, but because the entire system had fallen down around his ears while he was wondering if it was too early for him to take his lunch break, simply because every angel realized how boring Heaven was once Aziraphale started telling stories about Earth and humans.
One well-intentioned, chatty angel singlehandedly managed what the Morningstar with legions of rebels and unlimited power couldn’t: Heaven’s entire hierarchy has been obliterated. Metatron has been dethroned. The cherubs have created a union.
Most importantly: Aziraphale has to do the “I was wrong and you were right” dance.
Crowley kicks back in his seat with a glass of wine and a small plate with an even smaller brownie on it. He makes a point of getting settled, wiggling into his seat and finding the plushest pillows to prop himself up on, and only then does he look up and raise an eyebrow at the angel in front of him.
Magnanimously, he waves the hand holding his wine glass at Aziraphale and says, “Go on then.”
Because of the gravity of his fuck up, he’s even wearing the “I was wrong,” outfit, which is a black sequined number with frills and lace and is objectively the worst possible combination of their respective styles.[2] Aziraphale, of course, still looks adorable even when he’s pouting in the most hideous dress the universe has ever seen, so Crowley’s day has continued on its increasingly steep upward trend.
His eyes are locked on Crowley’s hands, though, and he does not begin his punishment.
“Do you eat more often now?” Aziraphale asks, staring at the plate. “You’ve never - “
“Nothing lasts forever,” Crowley recites snidely. “I can change too, y’know. Maybe I’m a foodie now. How would you know when you abandoned me for Heaven for months?”
“A month and a half,” Aziraphale weakly corrects.
“The shortest and most explosive reign of any supreme leader of Heaven,” Crowley says, relishing every syllable. “A month and a half. For all you know, I’m a whole different demon now.”
Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “We used to only see each other once every few decades and all that changed were your outfits, I can’t imagine a month and a half was anywhere near long enough for you to be a whole different demon.”
Crowley won’t admit that he’s right, a month and a half isn’t much time at all. He won’t admit that two weeks of said month and a half were spent with him crying in the Bentley until Nina came by and dragged him into her shop by his ear. He, additionally, won’t admit that he hasn’t so much as transformed into a new demon as he has… acquired some new coping skills and an expanded social circle.
Said social circle, consisting of Muriel, Maggie, Nina, and, unfortunately, Gabriel[3], all assured him in their own ways that Aziraphale would be hopeless without him and would return sooner or later. Muriel implicitly did so by being a mini-Aziraphale and reminding Crowley that his angel loved Earth more than anything else, Maggie explicitly did so by gently saying, “You know how he is - Mx. Fell knows what’s important, it just takes him a bit to get there sometimes when there’s distractions,” and Nina even more explicitly did so by saying, “You’re an idiot for taking so long to be honest about your feelings that he thought he had to go back to his crap family for validation. He’s gonna let you stew for a bit and then realize promotions suck and come back with his tail between his legs, and you better grovel and be ready to fucking talk to him for once in your life.”
And then Crowley had a bit of a meltdown where the earthbound folks of his social circle could see, and they introduced him to said new coping skills. Hence: brownie.
“Shows what you know,” Crowley says anyway, holding up his plate and waggling an eyebrow. “I’m really leaning in on Gluttony and Sloth these days. I’m a proper sleep-the-day-away-until-the-munchies-hit lazy kind of demon now.”
“The ‘munchies’?” Aziraphale asks, mouth forming his, “Human slang is so weird,” moue.
Crowley shoves his treat into his mouth and eats it in one bite. Because he knows it irritates Aziraphale immensely, he keeps talking while chewing. “Don’t try to distract me, I know what you’re doing. Either do the dance or get out.”
“It’s my shop!”
“It’s Muriel’s shop now,” Crowley corrects mercilessly. He swallows the rest of his bite, then continues, “And they’re out at their glass blowing class so I’m in charge they said. Which means - “ he manifests a watch on his wrist just so he can tap at it pointedly. “Hop to it.”
Aziraphale visibly steels himself, gets as far as, “I was wrong and you were right,” before he - horrifyingly - bursts into tears.
Tears.
Aziraphale is crying.
He’s never done that before.
Crowley himself has only manifested the bits and bobs for crying once, and it was when he thought Aziraphale had been murdered. He had been deep into his booze and figured that humans did the whole crying thing for a reason so he may as well see if it’d make the terrible, unbearable, absolutely soul-crushing pain dull at least a bit.[4]
Aziraphale is scrubbing at his face and sobbing and saying things like, “I’m s-sorry, I didn’t - I’m sorry, this isn’t w-what I w-wanted - “ and all of Crowley’s righteous indignation flees the building.
It flees the country.
Wine dropped on the floor, chair vacated, Crowley leaps forward and puts his hands on Aziraphale’s face with, “No no no, no, it’s okay, angel, shh, it’s okay - “ trying to scrub the tears away fruitlessly when a dozen more keep taking their place. “What’s this all for, what’s - it’s okay, angel, it’s okay, you don’t have to do the stupid dance, we both know it’s stupid - “
“It’s n-not about the dance!” he wails. “I was so mean to you!”
“I like when you’re mean to me,” Crowley says helplessly, hands shifting and trying to figure out what he should be doing. He ends up awkwardly holding Aziraphale’s face in his hands, which he regrets about five seconds in because it means he’s catching all of the tears and snot without even trying. “I don’t like when we fight, obviously that bit was terrible, but we always fight and it gets sorted out sooner or later because we’re best friends and we’re best friends because you’re a bastard and I like that about you oh dear Someone please stop crying this is awful - “
“Not just with the fight!” Aziraphale leans his wet and snotty face into Crowley’s hold, his own hands coming up to touch his. “I always - I changed the Bentley’s paint color!”
Crowley does not understand what’s going on in Aziraphale’s thick head. “Yes? And then you changed it back?”
“I don’t want to change you!”
“You - what?” Crowley blinks. “Okay? That’s good?”
“You don’t get it,” he wails miserably. “I thought - I didn’t understand why you didn’t want to be an angel again, I’m sorry, I didn’t get it, because even though we don’t talk about it I know that you didn’t become a demon because you wanted to like most of the others and so if I could make you an angel again wouldn’t you want to be one? And if we were both angels then that’d mean we could be together without all of the pointless drama that Gabriel and Beelzebub went through and it wouldn’t matter because we’d be on the right side together and you wouldn’t be lonely and sad anymore but that’d mean changing you and I don’t - “
“Breathe, Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupts him, tapping his nose with one of his fingers that can reach from its hold. “You’re almost hyperventilating. I get it, I do,” he insists at Aziraphale’s baleful look. “You’re sorry that you tried to change me. You like me as I am and you’re sorry you tried to muck with it all. I get it. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay!”
“It is,” he insists, and the words tumble out of his mouth even as they burn,[5] “I forgive you.”
That stops Aziraphale in his tracks. He blinks owlishly at Crowley, who removes his hands to take his sunglasses off. He hopes his eyes are showing his sincerity as he repeats himself, “I forgive you, angel. It’s okay.”
For a few moments, it’s silent between them. The bookshop is quiet[6], even the sounds from outside not intruding on their discussion.
Aziraphale - eyes red and wet, face twisted in agony - says, “I don’t deserve that.”
“You’re the one who taught me that forgiveness wasn’t about deserving.” He swings his sunglasses around a few of his fingers for a moment before hooking them onto his back pocket. “You’ve forgiven me how many times? My turn, now.”
This sets Aziraphale off again, one hand coming up to scrub at his eyes as tears start falling again. “You’ve never needed forgiving,” he sobs. “You’ve always - You’ve always been good.”
“Oh fuck off,” Crowley’s voice breaks, and before Aziraphale can see his tears fall, can see how long Crowley’s been waiting for someone (Aziraphale) to say that to him, he wraps his arms around his angel and pulls him in for a crushing, desperate hug. “J-just, fuck off with that.”
“I’m sorry I left.”
“I’m sorry I left.”
“I - You know it wasn’t - “ Aziraphale clutches at Crowley’s shirt and leans in as close as possible. “It wasn’t because I don’t love you. I love you more than anything.”
Crowley kind of knew, but he also kind of didn’t. The way your brain knows a fact (whales are big) but you don’t really get it until you see it in action (like seeing a whale in person and realizing “big” is an understatement) - It’s nice to have the verbal confirmation, and by nice, Crowley rather means it’s “everything and a bag of chips and also like winning the lottery.” .
“I love you more than anything too,” he says, because he’s pretty sure Nina will actually discorporate him and the entire block if he’s anything less than completely honest. “I think I’m starting to get that ‘love you more than anything’ doesn’t mean I should lock the two of us in a pocket dimension a few galaxies away and never see anyone else ever again, though. Gabriel and Beez, now that they’re through the honeymoon phase, are getting on each other’s nerves a bit. Can’t blame ‘em, I mean, can you imagine spending that much time with Gabriel? At least when he was Jim he was kinda cute in a weird puppy way, but - “
“You still love me?” Aziraphale’s voice is so, so quiet.
Crowley blinks at the curly mop of hair tucked under his chin. Simply, as if it’s as obvious as the Earth turning, grass growing, clouds doing cloud things, he says, “I always have. I think I always will.”
“Even though - ?“
“Even then. Even with you being a bit of a bastard all the time. Even with you being naive and wanting to save every stray we come across and nearly getting us murked for harboring an amnesiac archangel. Even when you’re fussy and righteous and we disagree on things. Even through all of that.”
They’re quiet again, and then Aziraphale does a little wiggle and removes himself from Crowley’s arms. He swipes his arm roughly over his eyes, clears his throat, and steps back.
“Aziraphale - “
“You were right and I was wrong,” he sings, voice surprisingly strong, as he twirls around fancifully. The lace skirts swirl around and really make the entire event a dozen times better. “You were right, you were right, I was wrong, and - “ He skips forward, leans in, and gives Crowley the lightest peck on his lips.[7] “I love you, dearest.”
Crowley’s heart could burst. He manages a, “Ggk, cool, um - er - apology accepted. Forgiveness granted. Want to - ? Maybe?”
Aziraphale gives him the softest smile, then leans in and gives him a warm, full kiss.
—
When Aziraphale pulls back, his face is pinched. “What was in that brownie you ate? You taste funny.”
Crowley says, “Oh, pot. Weed. Marijuana. The devil’s lettuce.”
“A drug?”
“Yeeeeeah, turns out being high-strung and on edge for six millennia from constant monitoring and hypervigilance from said monitoring can make it hard to relax. Maggie hooked me up with her dealer - “
“Maggie does drugs?!”
“And I think I like it a bit more than drinking right now. Smoked a bit this morning but it was wearing off when you got back, so.” He shrugs. “Figured it’d kick in by the time you were done dancing and we’d caught up.”
Aziraphale’s scandalized face is one of his favorite faces. He leans in to give the furrow between his eyebrows a quick peck, because the edible’s starting to kick in and he doesn’t see a reason not to.
“Well I - I mean. Did you.” Aziraphale’s scandal turns to something contemplative. “Do you have any more?”
“Loads, I just made a batch last night.”
“Oh, are you baking now?” Aziraphale’s face brightens. “Not to be presumptuous, but if you ever need a taste tester, I of course offer my services!”
As if Crowley started baking with the intention of feeding anyone other than Aziraphale. He’s such a cute idiot sometimes.
“Sure thing, angel. I’ll make some unmedicated ones next time.”
“Weeeeeellllll,” Aziraphale drags out slowly, fingers tip-tapping playfully at Crowley’s collar. “I wouldn’t be opposed to trying one from this batch. If you don’t mind.”
Crowley gives a loud, overly exaggerated gasp. “You want to try a drug?! Aziraphale, you naughty thing!”
“Oh hush. I’ve had a very stressful month.”
“And a half!”
“And a half,” he agrees. “I think I’ve earned some relaxation.”
“I didn’t even have to tempt you! You’re walking right into my wiles all on your own, like a - like a little - “ Crowley’s eyes go unfocused for a moment. “Oof, yeah, that’s kicking in. Might’ve made them a bit too strong. What was I saying?”
Aziraphale giggles, and it’s the most perfect sound in existence. Crowley loves him so much. “You were going to get me a brownie, I believe.”
“Right! We’re drugging an angel!”
“Please don’t word it like that.”
---
Footnotes:
1They appear to have tied Metatron to a folding chair and subsequently hoisted him up onto a pillar where half of the angels are throwing tomatoes at him. The other half are cheering the tomato-throwers on but flinch whenever any offer them a tomato of their own. One of the throwers goes, “no no, see, eating’s actually alright, look!” and bites into it like an apple, then immediately gets sad puppy-dog eyes when it gushes juice all over their spick-and-span white outfit. The flinching party hesitantly tries to help them wipe it off, and three other angels run off and return with damp washcloths to help.
Similarly, many of the angels who overcome their hesitancy to pick up and actually throw one appear to immediately regret it and then immediately rush to get a bucket and water to clean the debris - There’s at least a few dozen angels on their hands and knees scrubbing at the floors where tomato-guts have sprayed. They’ll get there eventually, Crowley thinks, but fuck if it isn’t strangely endearing to see how there’s more angels like his angel than not.[return to text]
2Neither of them have made such a fuck up that the outfit was required yet, which makes this all the more exhilarating. [return to text]
3He and Beez have been enjoying Alpha Centauri, but Gabriel appears to have imprinted on Aziraphale like a stupid duckling and keeps coming back every few days to see him, only to be disappointed when he’s still in Heaven. “It’s a crap job,” he said to Crowley once, as if Crowley hadn’t become a demon just to get away from the damn thing. “And Aziraphale is like. Waaaaay too into the whole ‘hedonist’ thing. It won’t last.”
“Fuck off, Jim,” Crowley said, which almost sounded like, “Thanks, I hope you’re right.”[return to text]
4It did not help, if you were wondering. Just made his face feel gross and gave him a headache.[return to text]
5”Forgive”,“kind", “bless”, “Jesus” - these aren’t words that demons are supposed to say, and it’s kind of like chewing on staples if Crowley's being honest. [return to text]
6The bookshop knows better than to let a single creak, a single noise, interrupt this moment. She’s been placing bets with the record store on when these two would get their shit together, and she needs to make sure she has all of the details to pass on the next time they connect. [return to text]
7The bookshop, at an unnoticeable decibel, groans like an old house in the wind. The record shop is going to be SO smug.[return to text]