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They had thought they were safe. And for a time, they were. No messages or assignments came from either head office for an entire year.
Aziraphale settled into being a full-time bookshop owner – who sold no books. And Crowley took up pottery and painting – his style was very reminiscent of his dear friend, Leonardo.
They also spent more time together than they had in the preceding six thousand years combined.
It was the best year of their existence. They were in love and finally able to express it. There were days where they still argued or Crowley would cause mischief, which Aziraphale would ‘thwart’ with a fond sigh, but they were truly happy.
There was nothing stopping them from trading kisses or words of love as they spent their days unapologetically together. It was bliss. It was better than Heaven.
And they travelled. It’d been so long since either of them had seen much of the world, so they clicked their fingers and off they went. They strolled along winding paths beside rivers, through lush forests and up the tallest mountains. They visited places they remembered from millennia’s past, though much had changed. They made new memories and visited places their respective work had never taken them before – far flung places and nearby too. Everywhere from the big cities to the smallest villages they roamed. They took photos and sent postcards back to their friends in Tadfield and loved every cheesy moment.
They took turns choosing a destination. One would ask the other, "Where do you want to go?"
The answer was always "Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”
It was sickeningly domestic and neither minded a bit.
They spent the entire year smiling and laughing. It was perfect.
They were finally free to do what they wanted, and they did it hand in hand.
But nothing lasts and a year was all they had. It passed by too quickly. Time had always flown by for them. As immortal creatures that were literally older than time itself, days were gone in the blink of an eye. Weeks were nothing. Whole months went by in a flash.
One day, Aziraphale got a call. An actual telephone call, which surprised him, because he didn’t think other angels even knew what a phone was. They ordered him to return to Heaven immediately.
Crowley was sitting across next to him and saw the colour drain from Aziraphale’s face and the light die from his eyes.
He hung up the phone and turned to Crowley. Neither spoke, until Aziraphale collapsed into Crowley’s arms. His body was wracked with agonised sobs. Crowley clutched him as tightly as he could.
“What happened? Is it Adam or Warlock? What’s wrong?” He was already frantic, and he didn’t even know what had happened. Whatever had upset his angel had to be serious.
“It’s Heaven. They’re demanding I return. Permanently,” He managed between wails.
Fear like none he’d ever felt before gripped Crowley’s heart and squeezed.
“They can’t! We’ll run away.”
“They can. They have. I have to report there immediately, or they’ll come and find me," He unburied his face from Crowley's chest, wide resigned eyes meeting his wide frantic pair. "And if they find me, I hate to think of what they’ll do to us. Both of us.”
He stood and started pacing anxiously, tears still streaming down his cheeks.
The devastation on his face hit Crowley like a punch to the gut.
“I won’t let them take you.” Crowley stood too and grabbed Aziraphale tightly again, crushing him against his chest. It would hurt a mortal, but neither were mortal, so he didn’t hold back. He held him close, as if he could pull him into himself, hiding him in his chest, safe behind his ribs and in his heart, where he belonged.
“I have to. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Aziraphale’s watery eyes met Crowley’s once more and he kissed him gently. He kissed with every piece of his soul and it felt like pure, never-ending love. Aziraphale pulled back to say something, but nothing came out before he disappeared from Crowley’s arms like mist.
Crowley collapsed to the floor and wept.
Crowley wept and screamed for two whole days, before he eventually pulled himself together enough to pull himself up off the floor. He collapsed again onto the couch and stared at the wall for another few hours. He wasn’t sure exactly how long. Time didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore.
Aziraphale didn’t reappear and Crowley couldn’t sense him, no matter how hard he tried.
The world felt empty without Aziraphale in it.
His heart felt empty too.
Days turned into weeks. Crowley discovered how hard it was to be alone. Even before they’d really known each other, it had been comforting to know that another supernatural being was roaming the Earth. And of course, they’d gone decades, even centuries apart before. But they’d been allowed to see each other, if they’d wanted. A fact Crowley took advantage of, ‘running into’ the angel regularly. All it would take was one snap of their fingers and they’d be at each other’s side again. But this – not being able to see him at all – was torture.
In missing him, time had slowed to a crawl. Seconds lasted hours, filled with pain and regret. Was this what time felt like to humans? How could they bear it?
He didn’t know what to do with himself. He hardly ever left the bookstore, too scared that if he did, he might miss Aziraphale, in case he came back. But he knew deep down, he wasn’t coming back. If Heaven hadn’t tried to kill him outright as soon as he stepped foot in their hallowed halls again (maybe they’d figured out their little trick and decided to take their revenge), then they were at least holding him captive. And how did one escape an all-knowing, all-seeing prison?
So, this was it for Crowley. Destined to walk Earth for the rest of eternity alone and in pain.
He’d rather cease to exist. But a tiny part of him – the part he’d tried so hard to suppress and the part that made him a useless demon – still hoped. Until he knew for sure that his angel was gone, he would wait. And wait.
And wait he did. A decade passed by and he hardly moved. He slept, on and off. He had visits from Anathema and Newton, and the Them. Warlock came over every now and again too, when his family wasn't on some diplomatic mission or another. But Crowley made no effort to see or interact with anyone else.
The one person he wanted to see would never walk through that door again, so why bother?
It was a Tuesday or maybe a Saturday when the bookshop phone rang. Crowley neither knew nor cared.
He ignored it. The only people who ever called were Anathema or Adam, and he was in the mood to speak to either of them. But the phone kept ringing, long after it should’ve stopped or gone to voicemail.
He picked it up, just to stop the infuriating noise.
“Hello?” He grunted. It wasn’t polite, but he never pretended to be.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed.
Crowley’s heart leapt in his chest.
“Aziraphale, angel, where are you?” He’d stood up, as if to start running to wherever he was in a second.
“I’m still in Heaven. But I’m alright. I don’t have much time.”
Crowley heard a rustling in the background and tried to imagine him clutching a phone, hiding somewhere, away from the other angels.
“But I needed to speak to you. I’ve missed you so much, my darling. I love you.”
There was a crack in his voice and Crowley felt the lump in his throat growing, threatening to choke him. But he needed to say so much to his beautiful angel.
“I’ve missed you too. So much. Aziraphale, I don’t think I can do this without you. I need you. I love you.” It all rushed out of him. He managed to stop himself before he started begging for him to come home. He knew that he would if he could. But the words threatened to spill out anyway.
“Oh, my love. I know,” He paused, “I’m on monitor duty. Watching Earth from up here. I think they think that’s safer than me being down there. But when I can, I look for you.”
Guilt and shame hit Crowley like a slap. He’d been moping around and Aziraphale had seen him. It must have been hard for him, to see the love of his life wasting away.
“I’m so sorry,” He was openly weeping now, and he could hear Aziraphale’s sniffling too.
“It’s not your fault,” He assured him, and Crowley knew he meant it. But that was just Aziraphale’s nature. He wouldn’t blame anyone for anything. Even a demon, who had done so much bad in the world.
“Are you safe? Are you ok?” He asked.
There were a few seconds of hesitance before Aziraphale spoke again.
“I’m fine. The other angels aren’t very welcoming, but they aren’t bad. They just aren’t friendly.”
Crowley didn’t know if ‘not friendly’ equated to the same level of ‘not friendly’ as a starving hell hound or if they were just a bit standoffish. Either way, it made Crowley angry. How could anyone not adore his angel? He was the best being in existence.
But then he remembered the looks on the Archangel’s faces when he was pretending to be Aziraphale – especially the Archarsehole Gabriel. There was certainly no love lost between them.
Aziraphale, like Crowley, had been on Earth so long that they didn’t know how to relate to ethereal or demonic beings anymore. The go-to topics of conversation in Heaven and Hell were so different than on Earth. There was no discussion of the weather, TV shows or sports. Not even books or art.
They'd gone unapologetically native.
“Will you ever come back?”
“I don’t know. They watch me all the time. Doing this was a risk, but I couldn’t bear it any longer. I needed to hear your voice. And they’re finally trusting me a bit more, I think.”
Crowley doubted that, but he was going to debate anything that made his angel feel better. Aziraphale always was an optimist.
“Fuck, I miss you, angel.”
“I know. I miss you too, my love.”
They both lapsed into silence. They had such a short amount of time, but neither knew what to say to make it better. Their tears were starting to dry, and their breathing had returned to normal.
“I have to go. They’ll be here any second.” Aziraphale sounded as devastated as Crowley felt.
“I’ll be here. I’ll be waiting.”
“I know, my dear. Goodbye.”
“See you around, angel.”
Goodbye was too final. But as he heard the phone disconnect, it felt pretty final.
Another torturous two years passed, and Crowley tried his best to stay hopeful. He went out more, socialising with their friends, and returned to making mischief – though his heart wasn’t really in it anymore. It was more to appease Hell, in case they were still watching him.
His thoughts turned to Aziraphale as often as they ever had, and he wondered at what moments the angel was looking down on him. He hoped it was when he was out and about and not the times he curled up in the bookshop and never wanted to leave, like a pathetic, pining, pouting child.
But it was on one of those occasions that he found the letter. A glowing, golden, gilded letter. He swore it hadn’t been on Aziraphale’s desk (that he kept exactly the same as it had been when the angel had left) when he sat down to troll people on Twitter a moment before. He tentatively picked it up, afraid it might be a trick (from his ilk) or a reprimand (from Heaven). But as soon as he saw the perfect flowing writing, he knew it was from Aziraphale. He’d recognise that writing anywhere. A smile broke out on his face as he began to read.
My dearest Crowley,
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write. It’s hard to find a moment alone when angels don’t need to eat, sleep or do anything else but watch me all the time. But in the few moments I manage to steal alone, it’s always returning to you that I think about. You’re never far from my mind.
I miss you as much now as I did the moment I left your arms and my love for you is as strong as ever. Please, never doubt my love and devotion to you. I know you’ve already waited for me for six thousand years and I have no right to ask you to wait six thousand more. But know, no matter how many millennia pass, my love for you won’t change.
I still watch over you and feel the space between us like a sword to the heart. But when I see you smile or laugh, I know that you’re alright. And that brings me peace. Sometimes I imagine you can feel me watching you and when you look at the sky, I have to stop myself from waving or blowing you a kiss. It’s silly, but I imagine you waving back.
I have so much I want to say and neither the time nor the words to express it. I wish I could hold you and kiss you, so you could feel my love. I remember the times we were together and it soothes the ache, for a moment.
I have to finish this and send it. I don’t think they track letters, so if I can, I will send another as soon as I’m able.
It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.
Forever yours,
Aziraphale
XOXO
By the time he was reading the hugs and kisses at the end (such a cute and outdated thing, just like his angel), Crowley felt his heart couldn’t fill or break any more. His tears flowed unimpeded.
He’d gotten used to living through the pain. It was background noise to his existence. He knew himself and had accepted the absolute truths of his life:
His chosen name was Crowley.
He was a demon.
He'd been Crawly, the snake of Eden.
He loved his Bentley.
He loved his plants.
He loved the Earth and its inhabitants.
He loved Aziraphale and missed him more than he thought possible. It tore at his soul.
That was who he was.
This letter punched through every emotional coping mechanism he’d built like a knife through butter. He was back to square one.
Aziraphale couldn’t ask him to wait for him. But waiting for his angel was another one of Crowley’s truths. He couldn’t stop himself. He used to hate himself for it. But when they’d finally had that year together, he’d realised that every second of waiting had been worth it. And it would be worth it again.
It had to be.
Another year. Another long 365 days of no Aziraphale. No letters or calls. Not so much as a suspicious coincidence he could imagine was his angelic interference. Nothing.
But Crowley was fine. He no longer waited by Aziraphale’s desk, either for a letter or a call. He travelled again. He visited places they’d been together and new places – where he would try very hard not to think ‘Aziraphale would like this’. He focussed himself away from thinking about his loneliness and started thinking about the world again.
But between jaunts across seas and planes, he always returned to the bookshop. It was his home. It reminded him of Aziraphale, but more than that, it was safe. It hadn’t changed in over 200 years. In a world where things changed in the blink of an eye, Crowley needed that stability and comfort, though he'd never admit it.
He’d still have preferred Aziraphale though.
He’d just returned back from an extended trip through much of Africa. He’d been back in the bookshop for two days, when he heard a crash from the upstairs flat.
He rushed up the stairs and stopped halfway as he saw the most beautiful and terrifying sight he’d ever seen.
Aziraphale stood swaying unsteadily at the top of the stairs. His face and white robes were stained with blood. But when his eyes met Crowley’s, the smile that graced his face was radiant.
It didn’t stop Crowley’s panic though.
“Angel?”
“Crowley, my love.” He swayed hard to the left and Crowley bounded up the stairs, defying all rules of gravity and physics, to catch him.
“What happened?” Crowley asked, pulling Aziraphale to him firmly – wanting to feel him in his arms and convince himself it was real – but being mindful not to pull or squeeze him too hard, since it was obvious he was hurting.
“I escaped. I escaped and I came home to you.” His big blue eyes met Crowley’s and the love that shone from them was everything Crowley had been missing.
But Aziraphale was hurt.
“We need to get out of here, don’t we?” Crowley asked.
Aziraphale nodded and tears welled up. The bookshop, their safe place, was the first place Heaven would look.
“They'll come for us.”
“Then we’ll run away and keep on running.” He sounded a lot more confident than he felt. Having Heaven’s wrath was no laughing matter. They would hunt them forever, to the edge of the universe and back.
But they would be together again. It would be like old times, travelling to destinations unknown.
“Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”