Chapter Text
The first thing that Crowley noticed upon his arrival to Aziraphale’s recently restored bookshop, aside from the standard sense of relief that happened to befall him every time he saw that said shop was perfectly intact and absolutely not on fire, was the prominent ‘Closed’ sign in the window of the shop door. He frowned and looked down at his watch. Tapped it once. Then once more. Then frowned a second time. No, he definitely hadn’t overslept. It was, most assuredly, 1:00am on a Tuesday morning and one of Aziraphale’s favourite times to open his bookshop.
Of course if you actually asked Aziraphale, he would stress that ideally he would prefer to never have to flip that sign over to the ‘Open’ side. However, the solicitors were quite clear in their argument that he would not be able to classify the building as a ‘shop’ if he was never open and that if he was not using the premises as a shop then he would have to give up said building to someone who was going to use it for its intended purpose. Never let it be said that Aziraphale wasn’t extremely passive aggressive when the occasion called for it.
The second thing that had Crowley concerned, was the overwhelming aura of Divine Good that invaded every sense of his being. This was, of course, not to say that an aura of Divine Good didn’t usually surround the small shop on the corner of a generally unremarkable street in Soho. There was a reason that people still chose to visit the place, despite the unusual opening times and Aziraphale’s other numerous and elaborate attempts to make his residency as ‘un-shop-like’ as he possibly could.
The shops usual aura of Divine Good, however, wasn’t anywhere near as suffocating to Crowley as what was currently bombarding him. This was to Goodness what hospitals were to cleanliness. By-the-book, clinical, absolutely complete and purposeful.
And Crowley knew exactly who that particular aura of Divine Good belonged to. He’d sensed it before. It had been surrounding Aziraphale just before The Apocalypse That Never Was. He’d sensed it every time Aziraphale doubted their plan and put his faith in Heaven’s Great Plan instead. And as such, that aura brought out a very particular type of loathing that brewed deep in Crowley’s gut.
He shook his head slightly and forced that feeling down. Best not go in there all guns blazing. If he approached slowly, he might be able to make out what was going on without interrupting anything and potentially inciting Aziraphale’s disappointment. Despite disagreeing with them in regards to the Apocalypse, Aziraphale still wanted to believe that Heaven was not only Good, but also good.
He crept towards the shop, using as much of his natural snake-like agility as he could and paused just at the point where he could begin to make out the conversation,
“-truly am sorry about this.”
There he was, Crowley bristled as he heard the voice, that smug git Gabriel. Heaven’s favourite. Source of probably at least 75% of Aziraphale’s insecurities.
“I know you are, Gabriel, it’s not your fault. Would you like any tea before the deed is done?”
The frown that had appeared on Crowley’s face as he pulled up to the shop, had now returned ten-fold, along with a sinking feeling of dread that was currently joining the aforementioned loathing within his gut. Sometimes Crowley did wish he hadn’t gone quite so native. It was a bit of a nuisance having quite so many feelings running around inside you at any one time.
“No, thank you. Aziraphale, if I had any say in the matter, I would not have let it come to this. I tried to argue in your defence.”
Usually Crowley would have rolled his eyes in disbelief at what Gabriel was saying, but that feeling of dread was quickly becoming the dominant feeling within Crowley’s body. They couldn’t have –
Then came a heavy sigh, “Once He’s made up his mind, no argument can possibly dissuade Him”
Crowley could hear his angel’s voice, thick with emotion and resonating defeat with every word and suddenly all forms of logic fled and he burst through the shop door in a manner that was probably less impressive than he’d hoped it would have been, but that was currently the last thing on his mind,
“Don’t you even think about it!”
At least Aziraphale had the decency to look somewhat surprised by his sudden arrival. Gabriel barely moved a muscle, and certainly didn’t give him the courtesy to even turn and face him,
“This is not a matter for you to concern yourself with, demon.”
Crowley almost grinned at the perturbed look that Aziraphale focused in the archangel, if not for the sudden revelation he had,
“So how long did you know I was there then?”
“From the moment you slithered onto the street. You’re not as sneaky as you think are.”
Crowley concluded that it would be most un-demonic to huff in the face of one of Heaven’s top tier angels. So he decided to just hold his tongue entirely and fix the other with his most well-rehearsed glare. The one glare that was reserved for the archangel in question and none other. And he was entirely certain that said glare would have had Gabriel at least slightly concerned. If Gabriel had even bothered turning to receive it, and if Crowley had bothered to take off his sunglasses.
Aziraphale, for his part, was performing a rather impressive bout of mental gymnastics as he tried to work out a way to diffuse the almost-unbearably tense confrontation between the archangel he admired and the demon he loved.
“Well,” He chimed in, airily, wringing his hands together with a nervousness that Crowley knew meant his angel was close to the point of shooing both of them out of his shop, “As we’ve already been interrupted somewhat,” and Crowley would have felt bad about it if not for the somewhat grateful look Aziraphale shot his way, “Perhaps I should pop the kettle on anyway. I, for one, would rather have soothing cup of chamomile tea before the… well… before what needs to be done is done, I suppose”
Neither of the beings in the front room of his shop had the chance to protest before the angel darted into the back kitchen, the clinking of cups and teaspoons soon following his departure. Crowley knew from experience that when Aziraphale ‘popped the kettle on’, that meant he wouldn’t return for at least five minutes while he calmed himself down a bit. Apparently, he realised with a sense of disappointment, that Gabriel was also aware of this fact, as the archangel now chose to turn and face him.
Crowley wasn’t about to let him get the first word in, though, “You will not let them make him Fall” He hissed, finally pulling down the glasses to able to use the aforementioned practiced glare. Though it didn’t cause quite the reaction he’d hoped for.
“Aziraphale? Falling?” No, a loss of words wasn’t quite what Crowley was going for, but he couldn’t deny the entertainment factor of watching the stuck-up archangel spluttering, “Heaven would not make Aziraphale Fall, you petulant idiot, not if I have anything to say about it”
Crowley rolled his eyes, “Yes, because you always have his best interests at heart don’t you?” He grumbled, with maybe just a touch of petulance, “So if you’re not here to announce his Fall from Grace, what are you doing here? And why were you apologising?”
Gabriel seemed to go through a roller-coaster of mixed emotions in a manner of seconds, from ready to argue, to sheepish, to worried, before finally he settled on weary. Crowley, also, went on a roller-coaster of emotions. Though his only involved two emotions. From elated at the news that his angel wouldn’t be Falling on this day, to extremely concerned that Gabriel still looked weary at whatever news was to come. So it was more one of those sudden-drop roller-coasters, wherein their only purpose seemed to be how quickly they could send the contents of your stomach flying up through your throat.
“They’re taking my angelic powers”
They both nearly gave themselves whiplash in their rush to face the angel in the kitchen doorway, standing with his tray of teacups balanced on both hands, eyes planted firmly on the small bowl of sugar in the corner of it, as though it was the one that had asked the question.
“They’re what?!” Crowley resisted the urge to yell, he knew from the look on Aziraphale’s face that it wouldn’t do any good, “What would they do a thing like that for?”
The question was meant to be directed at Gabriel, but Crowley hadn’t bothered to look away from his angel and so caught the flinch that Aziraphale couldn’t seem to suppress. He wished he could take back the question if the reminder was going to cause Aziraphale any sort of discomfort, but because he’d been facing the angel at the time of asking, clearly Aziraphale felt that it was directed at him.
“You don’t need to tell him, Aziraphale” Gabriel tried to interject as Aziraphale set down his tray of teas,
“Yes, I do, he has every right to know why”
Gabriel looked like he truly wished he could protest that statement, but he said nothing and watched as Aziraphale made his way over to the demon, taking Crowley’s hands into his own and leading them both to the nearby well-worn sofa next to the stairs. Crowley took a moment to enjoy the look of anger on the archangel’s face, before focusing all of his attention on his angel.
Aziraphale took a breath, “So, Heaven was a little bit… perturbed by my role in stopping the war,” He began, “Apparently, they see it as me ‘foiling Heaven’s great victory over Hell’.” The words were parroted. Most likely a sentence read from one of Heaven’s usually long-winded and always boring reports, probably given to Aziraphale by the other occupant of the small room and it made Crowley wanted to scoff at Heaven’s assumption that had there been a war, their victory was inevitable.
Crowley didn’t want to ask the next question, but he also really wanted to know the answer, and so with a softness that surprised even him, it followed, “So, why are they not making you Fall, angel?”
Aziraphale picked at the skin of his otherwise flawless fingers, marring the manicure that he’d always been so meticulous with, “Because I didn’t choose the opposite side.” He said, a false sort of lightness coating his words, “I presume that, perhaps, someone Up There did want me to Fall. Someone Up There always wants me to Fall, I think. But Gabriel argued a case for me” He paused to offer a smile of gratitude towards the archangel, and even Crowley felt grateful for the other, though he would never admit it even in the face of Hell’s most imaginative tortures. “He reasoned that, though I chose not to fight with Heaven, I also chose not to fight against Heaven and instead performed my duties as a Principality of Earth”
“I hoped that would be the end of it, though” Gabriel offered, in a tone that was sincerer than Crowley usually heard from him.
“Heaven still decided that I was to be punished, and this is what they settled on” Aziraphale trailed off, the reality of the situation dawning on him slowly if the fearful look in his eyes was any indication. They sat in silence for a moment, the tea left forgotten on the side table, before Aziraphale shook his head, cleared his throat and got to his feet.
“I can’t put it off anymore, Gabriel, we might as well just get it over and done with” He announced, briefly shocking both the archangel and the demon with his suddenness.
Gabriel recovered first and nodded briskly. He knew Aziraphale’s moment of bravery regarding the situation would be short-lived and he couldn’t just not do it. Crowley, too, got to his feet, staying off to one side, double checking that the wards surrounding the shop would keep prying human eyes from seeing the proceedings and mentally preparing himself for any number of possibilities.
“Please, Aziraphale, forgive me for this” Gabriel spoke quietly, positioning Aziraphale into the centre of the room before taking his hands into a tight grasp. Enochian words were spoken and Crowley could barely look as angelic magic flowed from Aziraphale and dissipated into the air above. He could, however, hear the scream that suddenly sounded from his angel, inhuman and desperate and deafening. The sort of sound that he never wanted to hear from Aziraphale and he forced himself to look at the blinding light to see what was happening. He almost wished he hadn’t.
Aziraphale was barely able to stand on his own two feet, his mouth opened in a now-silent scream. His beautiful white wings had, at some point, burst forth and Crowley could see them shriveling before his eyes. He forced the bile back and wondered, not for the first time, why Heaven thought they were so much more Good in comparison to Hell. The angel’s chest heaved with the pain and Crowley could see the glittering tears as they rolled down his cheeks, hands clenched tightly in the archangel’s own as it seemed to be only Gabriel’s own strength keeping him from crumpling to the ground.
Finally, it all stopped, the room fell into silence and after a brief second of processing what had just happening, Crowley rushed forward to catch his angel before he fell backwards onto the hardwood floor below.
Almost immediately, the angel in his arms was out cold, still as death and Crowley panicked for a moment, absentmindedly checking that it was still the three of them in the bookshop, before focusing his gaze down. He pushed the sweat-drenched blonde curls away from the other’s face, taking in the face of the one he loved more than anything, still scrunched up in pain and wet with tears and held him as tight as he dared.
“It is done”
He jolted his head up to look at the archangel, still stood in the same position. The words were uttered in almost a state of shock.
“Tell me,” Crowley muttered as loudly as he could while still certain that he wouldn’t disturb Aziraphale, “What exactly have you done to him? Is he completely mortal now?”
Gabriel shook his head as he came back to himself, though his gaze remained on the angel in Crowley’s arms, rather than on Crowley himself, “He still retains his immortality and his empathic abilities. He also has a much higher immunity to human diseases than mortal’s naturally do. Though he is not completely immune as angels and demons are.”
Crowley nodded, filing the information away, “And what has he lost, exactly?”
Gabriel sighed, “I’m sure you could see, his wings have been taken, as has his healing powers both for himself and others, his powers of possession, his power and control over White Light and Holy Fire…”
“Wait, hold on a second,” Crowley interrupted, “He’s kept his empathic abilities, so he can sense when people are hurting and in pain, and yet he can’t do anything about it? He can’t help anyone in an angelic sense?”
The archangel looked down and nodded, “I’m afraid so”
“I’m sure you’re aware that’s going to feel like torture” Aziraphale may have been self-centred for an angel, and he may have preferred to live a relatively isolated existence so that he didn’t have to find people in pain or hurting or distressed. Over 6000 years living in a world that was so hell-bent on destroying itself and everything around it had somewhat jaded the angel. But he still liked to help if the occasion called for it.
Gabriel looked once more at the prone figure lying in the demon’s arms, then took a long shaky inhale, “Please take care of him, Crowley.” The aforementioned demon was somewhat surprised at the other’s use of his actual chosen name, but thought it best not to comment, “The ritual will have left him tired and weak. I would stay myself, but the Metatron requires a report on the proceedings and I would rather not do that here.”
Gabriel took a step towards Aziraphale and Crowley had to resist the urge to hiss at the archangel when he knelt down and place a kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead. Almost instantly the tight lines of his face smoothed out and the angel looked like he was simply in the middle of a peaceful slumber. Crowley felt little tendrils of envy course through his form at the knowledge that celestial feats of comfort, such as the one that Gabriel had just performed, were beyond his own powers. Demons weren’t exactly designed to be comforting, and so Crowley was forced to use more human methods himself.
“I will be keeping an eye on him,” Gabriel said, and Crowley was uncertain whether it was supposed to be taken as a comfort or a threat, “The punishment is not permanent.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow, “So how long will he be like this?”
“That is up to him,” Gabriel answered, “He needs to prove himself to Heaven. He needs to be certain that Aziraphale is either of Heaven or against Heaven.”
Crowley sighed. He should have guessed really. The only way for Aziraphale to correct this, was for him to stop being the Aziraphale he’d come to love over the past 6000 or so years, and to go back to being the Aziraphale who followed Heaven’s every order without question.
Right now, however, he didn’t want to think about that possible outcome. He needed to focus his efforts on making the Aziraphale in his arms was comfortable and safe and as happy as Crowley could make him.
“I’ll visit him as soon as I’m able” Gabriel announced as a final goodbye before leaving the shop and disappearing back to Heaven.
Crowley gave it a few seconds and then proceeded to carry the unconscious angel up the spiral staircase to the rarely used bedroom, hidden from the sight of the general public. The room, like most of Aziraphale’s bookshop, was covered in various rare books and artefacts from multiple time periods and multiple continents. If this room were to be discovered by someone, Crowley could only imagine how many museums and art dealers would be knocking down Aziraphale’s door. In Aziraphale’s mind, his collection was nothing more than little knick-knacks and small treasures that he’d seen throughout the years and taken a liking to. Not dissimilar to an English tourist purchasing a souvenir from a market stall in Italy or Spain and then allowing it to collect dust on a corner shelf somewhere.
It was a room that was cramped, and dusty, and bedsheets so musty that Crowley couldn’t help but materialise some fresh ones to replace them because there was no way in Heaven or Hell that he was going to tuck Aziraphale up in something so potentially unhygienic. Once he was satisfied with the angel’s sleeping premises, he managed to change Aziraphale into some clothes that were much more suitable for an extended nap and then, keeping a tight hold on the other’s form, he tucked them both under the covers and hoped that they could both cope with this new change.
***
Unbeknownst to the couple in the bookshop bedroom, a prying pair of eyes had watched every moment of what had just happened in that bookshop. A pair of eyes attached to a face that grinned a gruesomely smug smirk at what they had just witnessed and wasted no time at all in reporting his findings to his superior.
“Belias, sir, you shall most pleased to hear my news” Hastur said, that same grin having never left his face since he returned to Hell, “I dare say, sir, that it is news I am sure Beelzebub herself will want to hear from your own mouth.”
He looked hopefully at the back of the demon’s office chair, waiting for a sign that Belias had listened. A half-smoked cigar burned eternally in an ashtray on the side of the large desk as the incessant, loud ticking of the wall clock filled the silence, along with the tapping of fingers against the chair arm from the demon himself.
Usually Belias was particularly uninterested in what Hastur had to say. Hell hadn’t yet made up its mind about whether Hastur or Crowley were more to blame for the monumental screw-up that had been the planned apocalypse, but at least Crowley had stayed away from his office. Hastur, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped grovelling at his feet. However, Belias reasoned to himself, this was the most confident the lower demon had seemed about anything he’d had to tell Belias previously, and to suggest that Beelzebub could be interested,
“Go on?”
The grin widened, “Heaven has acted before us,” Hastur began,
“And this is supposed to please me, how exactly?”
“They have enacted punishment on one of their own; the Principality who helped stopped the Apocalypse with Crowley. Though, perhaps it can no longer be called that.”
Belias turned his chair to face the lower demon. He, of course, knew of the angel Hastur spoke of, though not with any great detail other than his role in the Apocalypse-that-never-was and his close relationship with Hell’s own creator of Sin, Crowley. Yes, Belias thought, Crowley had shown great promise as a servant of Satan before he’d met that ridiculous angel.
“Do tell me, Hastur, what punishment did Heaven decide to dish out this time?”
“This is the part you’ll like,” Hastur gloated, “they’ve turned him nearly mortal”
Belias’ eyes widened briefly, and then they narrowed into small slits. “Well, now, isn’t that interesting.”