Work Text:
Choose your faces wiseley, for soon enouff ye will be playing with Fyre… Choose your faces wiseley… Choose your faces wiseley…
It was easier said than done that Aziraphale and Crowley were on their own sides. But there was no way Heaven and Hell wouldn’t retaliate for their involvement in averting Armageddon. Agnes Nutter’s last prophecy left little to the imagination on what they had in store for traitors like them. Playing with Fyre … Of course, hellfire and holy water were the perfect punishments. But Aziraphale’s brain kept wracking on the “choose your faces” part as they boarded the bus for London.
Aziraphale was too wrapped up in his own racing thoughts that he almost didn’t notice his fingertips brushing against Crowley’s as they sat down. Once he registered the touch, he immediately yanked his hand away as if he burned it on a kettle.
“Sorry, sorry,” Aziraphale quickly blurted.
“ ‘s alright, Angel,” Crowley responded blankly as he gazed out the window. His fingers slowly curled and uncurled at his side.
Aziraphale looked down at his hands on his lap and began fidgeting with his ring.
We’re on our own side now…
Crowley’s words repeatedly rang through Aziraphale’s head. They really did it; betrayed their own head offices to stop the war and faced Satan himself. It almost didn’t feel real. The overwhelming adrenaline rush of that confrontation finally hit him. After averting the Apocalypse, there was no going back for the rebellious angel and demon. They probably only had measly hours before Heaven and Hell retaliated. And if they didn’t find a way out this time…
Aziraphale glanced at Crowley’s hand as he noticed his index finger tapped against his knee in an irregular rhythm. He couldn’t ignore the flashes of anxiety emitting from Crowley. Who could blame him after all that, including thinking that Aziraphale was gone for good? If these mere hours ended up being their last, Aziraphale didn’t want to waste them leaving so much unsaid again. It was now or never.
Aziraphale’s hand slowly and cautiously inched towards Crowley’s, his fingertips hovering just above his knuckles. Crowley’s tapping stopped, and he took a deep breath. Without turning his gaze from the window, Crowley’s palm slowly turned up, and his fingers laced through Aziraphale’s.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I promise it’ll all be okay. We’ll figure out something once we get back to London.” He squeezed his hand with such confident reassurance that Aziraphale’s body shuddered. “I know you’re tired, angel, so rest now. I’ll wake you before our stop.”
“Thank you, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed as some of the anxiety eased off. His hand trembled as Crowley’s thumb idly rubbed circles into his skin. The relief was almost too much that he had to blink away tears.
They shook hands before, and once or twice, their fingertips grazed when exchanging a note or a flask of holy water— not to mention how Crowley briefly pinned Aziraphale to a wall just a couple days ago. But this touch was unlike any other in all their 6,000 years on Earth. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s fondness radiate up his arm and through the rest of his corporation. There was no mistaking these new flashes of emotions, even from a demon.
There was so much more he wanted to tell and ask of Crowley. But for now, this was enough; just the two of them on a bumpy bus ride to London. Besides, a nap sounded quite lovely. Aziraphale leaned his head on Crowley’s shoulder and closed his eyes to lightly doze off.
It was then that Aziraphale knew with confidence that everything would be okay for them. It just had to.