#it has to end sad the archangels are a walking tragedy sorry

[woundlingus]

No cause listen, archangel band AU they’re like the Jackson five, okay? They started as a family thing, more wholesome rock. Maybe Cas and Anna are in it too, Chuck and Amara, it’s a family things. Slowly things pitter out until it’s just the four of them; Gabriel, Raphael, Michael, and Lucifer.

Over the years and with the independence from Chuck and under a new label their sound changes a little more to keep up with the trends, and they’re more punkish rock these days compared to the more classic sound they had as a family unit. So they land themselves a spot on the Warped Tour, right? Cause it’s early 00s in this.

And Michael and Lucifer have some rising tension, things are getting rough because Lucifer is their lyricist and he’s taking their sound to a place Michael doesn’t really like, he’s not big on this name that they’ve built for themselves and he’d rather take the more traditional route. But for the time being things are stable! There’s some pretty rough fights backstage, maybe throwing things, yelling, but the band never breaks up.

Now Gabriel, Gabriel is having a petekey moment (pete wentz from FOB and Mikey way from MCR turbulent backstage romance that ends in utter disaster, google it). He’s sneaking out from the band tour bus at night to go shack up with someone from someone else’s band, it’s all very hush hush and you know what the paparazzi is like so of course there’s whispers and gossip about it, but it’s not like anyone can prove anything, right? But it’s enough to set off what’s already getting a little volatile with his brothers, because he’s making a bad image for them and the more “pure wholesome” look Michael is still hanging on to from their past. They’ve got several shows still to go when they wake up and he’s just gone.

It’s the tipping point. You drove away Gabriel. No you drove away Gabriel. No it was you!

Michael and Lucifer sling this back and forth at each other for weeks, the two of them are having a Fleetwood Mac moment on stage where they’re standing on opposite sides of the stage singing pointedly at each other songs that they’ve clearly written about the other and their frustrations.

But they always survive, because there’s a balance to their family unit. Except, Gabriel is gone. And it comes as no real big surprise when Raphael takes Michael’s side in things, but everything feels so different now because there isn’t an even split here anymore. It’s them vs him. And Raphael is a steady force, a mediator, so when Lucifer is staring down the barrel of both his brothers deciding that he’s the one who broke the band and drove their little brother away he has a full blown rockstar meltdown.

Booze. Drugs. Women.

It’s constant. He’s never not high, he’s swaying on his feet on stage and slurring into the mic.

Raphael takes his concerns to the label management, because this is getting out of control and no one can convince Lucifer that he’s taking things too far and if he doesn’t stop he’s going to get himself or someone else killed. Someone needs to be the one to step in here.

Michael and Raphael are pulled into the office days later after many long meetings in upper management, and they think it would be best if perhaps they broke contract with Lucifer.

They’d pay him out, of course. They phrase it to appeal to the sensitivities of Michael and Raphael. Lucifer needs help, and he’s not going to help himself. Tour life is hard, and obviously he needs some stability to focus on himself. Sometimes love is not enough, perhaps it’s time he be evaluated for a 72 hour hold, and then maybe send him away to rehab? And then, you know, since it’s just the two of you the sound and direction of the band is all up to you. We can help with the writing and production to make up for the deep loss of Lucifer, and help you return to that sound you love, Michael. Doesn’t that sound good? Don’t you want to help your brother?

So they agree, and they take this to Lucifer to try and gently break the news but it’s devastating. All Lucifer can hear is that he’s ugly. He’s a blight on the labels name and they’re trying to silently make him go away, and by force if necessary. They’d deem him psychologically unfit just to save themselves the embarrassment of being associated with him and his lifestyle.

This is all Lucifer’s typical theatrics to Michael, but it’s also true. They’re pushing him out. Pushing him out of a band that thrives on his creative input. Michael would rather send him away so he can take full control than just admit that maybe he’s not solely to blame for what’s happened to their band.

They love him, of course, but love is not enough. It’s an illusion that Michael and Raphael even have a choice here, the label will not sign Lucifer, so they’re either over or he’s out. They’re just being polite and bureaucratic about it to ruffle the least amount of feathers as possible.

There’s no announcements, no nothing. The next album just drops and it’s only Michael and Raphael. Most of their fans like it, it’s okay, they mostly just ride for the band you know and the sound has changed and it’s lost some of its feeling but this is good. It’s good.

But Raphael isn’t built for this kind of life, they liked it because it was something they did as a family and now the family is gone. They don’t know if Lucifer took his pay out and went to rehab or if he took all that cash and bought enough blow to kill a large elephant. They never heard from Gabriel again. Raphael imagines they both took off somewhere and they’re happy. Maybe they have families. Because the alternative is, maybe they’re just dead in a ditch somewhere. Maybe Gabriel was abducted, it’s not like they ever filed a police report, it would have been bad publicity. Maybe Lucifer is face down in a motel somewhere alone, aspirating on his vomit. But he can’t think about that, it’s killing him. He struggles for a while watching Michael try so hard to build a name for them as a duo, because if they don’t succeed at this then they’ve done all of that for nothing. Nothing at all.

But it’s killing them, and one night they break down about it and refuse to go in to the recording studio. He says he’s very sorry, but he just can’t go on like this, he’s exhausted.

Raphael packs, and goes home for a while.

Michael is alone.

And he tries to hang on to this label for as long as he can because it can’t be for nothing, or maybe he really just can’t admit to himself that maybe it really is all for glory. He wants his name in lights. He wants to be the superstar with no other lights dimming hid own shine. But they’re not a band without the others. And the sound just progressively gets worse.

Until he stops. And it’s over.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Sam, Interrupted: Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,102

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

The death of the two women in your life was still very fresh in your minds. They wanted you three to kill Lucifer with the Colt, and as much as you tried, it didn’t work. Jo died for nothing as did Ellen, but the event hasn’t left your mind since. Your mind wouldn’t let you forgive yourself for not doing something more even though Dean’s told you repeatedly that you did everything you could. Jo was dead the minute the hellhounds got to her no matter how much magic you used on her body.

Nonetheless, there were other people that needed to be saved. Other people that had no clue the apocalypse was near them. Other people that were more important than Lucifer since the archangel hasn’t shown up since that night. All you could do was focus on the case in front of you which just so happened to be in a psychiatric hospital where an ex-hunter summoned you.

In order to get into the hospital and do your job, you needed to go undercover.

In order to do that, you needed to tell the truth.

“You were referred to me by a Dr. Babar in Chicago,” Dr. Fuller stated, looking at the file in his hands.

“That’s right,” you nodded.

“Isn't there a children's book about an elephant named Babar?”

“I don't know. I don't have any elephant books. Look, Doctor, I-I-I think the doc was in over his head with this one,” Dean points to his brother. “'Cause my brother is,” he makes a motion with his fingers by the side of his head that usually meant “crazy”.

“Okay, fine, thank you. That's really not necessary,” he stuttered, grabbing his notepad and file. “Why don't you tell me how you're feeling, Alex?”

“I'm fine. I mean, okay, a little depressed, I guess,” Sam sighed.

“Okay, any idea why?” Dr. Fuller asked as he wrote in his notepad.

“Probably because I started the apocalypse.”

“The apocalypse?”

“Yeah, that's right.”

“And you think you started it?” Dr. Fuller asked, looking at you and Dean who just smiled innocently.

“Well, yeah, I mean I killed this demon, Lilith, and I accidentally freed Lucifer from hell. So now, he's topside, and we're trying to stop him.”

“Who is?”

“Me. And him. And her. And this one angel.”

“Oh, you mean, like an angel on your shoulder.”

“No, his name’s Castiel. He wears a trench coat.”

“See what I mean, Doc? The kid's been beating himself up about this for months. The apocalypse wasn't his fault.”

“It’s not?” Dr. Fuller asked, stunned.

“No. There was this other demon, Ruby. She got him addicted to demon blood, and near the end, he was practically chugging this stuff,” you chuckled, adding in your two cents.

“My brother's not evil. He was just... high... yeah? So, could you fix him up so we can get back to traveling around the country and hunting monsters?”

“I really have an itching to kill some demons and Lucifer. I mean, we did shoot him, but he lived and is now going to come after me because apparently, I’m connected to his aunt or something.”

“Lucifer’s… aunt?”

“Yeah. Her name is Amara.”

“Irma,” Dr. Fuller said when he picked up his phone and dialed an extension, “cancel my lunch.”

All three of you gave the doctor comforting and warm smiles which only concerned him more.

“Dr. Fuller thinks it would be best if we keep you three under observation or a couple of days,” a sickly happy nurse said as she led you down a hall.

She was speaking, but you didn’t listen to a word she was saying. There was something off about the dark-haired nurse. She wasn’t a demon or an angel… but she wasn’t human either.

“All of us? Me, too? And Y/N?” Dean asked.

“Yes, Sugar. The doctor thinks that would be best,” she smiled.

Sam and Dean got their own rooms, and when she was done with them, she walked into your room with a smile on her face. She went down to business and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around your arm, checked it, and then removed it.

“Alright, I'm just gonna give you a little check-up,” she smiled.

“Would you stop smiling all the time? You’re freaking me out here,” you mumbled.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” she playfully frowned before smiling again.

“What are you?” you muttered to yourself, not expecting her to hear it.

Though she did, and her smiled faltered just a bit before she reminded herself to keep it on her face always. Yeah, there was something definitely wrong with her.

“How long is this going to take?” you asked.

“Not that long. You just relax and let me do my job.” She was right, it didn’t take that long, and you were walking to the patient lounge with patient scrubs, shoes, and a blue robe.

It’s what Sam and Dean were wearing when you joined them.

“How was your Silkwood shower?” Dean asked you.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you said in a small voice. Shaking off the horrifying experience, you decided to get down to business about why you were really here in the first place. “I can't believe I let you two talk me into this.”

“Hey, it's the least we could do. Martin saved Dad's ass more times than we can count. He's a great hunter,” Sam defended the man who summoned you here.

“Was. Until Albuquerque,” Dean grumbled.

“Besides, I just figure it's best we keep busy. That's all.”

“Better than what?” Dean asked.

“You know what,” you sighed, still not over Ellen and Jo’s death at all.

“Okay. Look... um... last few weeks, you've kind of been worrying me,” Sam admitted.

“Oh, come on, Sam. Stop,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Look, just because we're in the loony bin doesn't give you the right to head-shrink me.”

“Dean—”

“Ellen and Jo dying—yeah, it was a fucking tragedy, okay? But I'm not gonna wallow in it.”

“Dean, you always do this. You can't just keep this shit in,” you sighed.

“Watch me,” he chuckled before spotting the ex-hunter by the corner. “Oh, there he is.”

Dean left you and Sam, and you watched him go with a sad look. Ellen and Jo meant something to him, you knew, and it sucked he never wanted to talk about anything. Taking a deep breath, you and Sam walked over to Martin who smiled at your presence.

“Sam, Dean, Y/N, wow,” he stood and shook Sam’s hand. “Wow, you boys got big. You too, Y/N. You look good.”

“Thanks. You do, too, Martin,” you smiled.

“Uh... well, thanks for coming,” he motioned for you to sit, which you three did. “In the old days, I could've taken care of this thing with both hands tied behind my back... but, well... now...”

“What do you think it is that we're hunting?”

“I don't know yet. A ghost, demon, monster... animal, vegetable, mineral,” he chuckled. “Hospital's had five deaths in the last four months. Doctors keep calling it suicides, but they're wrong.”

“So, you’ve seen this thing?” you asked. Martin shook his head which lead you to your neck question. “Has anyone seen this thing?”

“Well, a couple patients have, uh... had glimpses, but there's not a lot to go on.”

“Are they reliable?” Dean asked.

“Oh, sure, why wouldn't they be?” Martin wondered.

Taking a look around the room, you noticed a woman danced and hummed around the room, and you knew whatever she said wasn’t going to be reliable. Looking back at Martin, you raised an eyebrow at him.

“I know you three think I'm a bag of loose screws. Now, you wouldn't be wrong. But I wouldn't have called you unless there was something here. I can feel it in my gut.”

“We believe you. Have you checked any of the bodies? Found signs of an attack?” Sam asked.

“Well, uh, no... I don't go around dead b-b-b-bodies anymore,” he flinched. Dr. Fuller approached you four and smiled at everyone.

“Alex, Eddie, Maria,” he smiled at you and the brothers. It’s not like you could use your real names here. “Well, I'm glad to see you're making friends. Why don't you and Mr. Creaser join us for group? Please. Right this way.”

Getting up, you followed the Doctor, but he stopped you and Dean from joining Martin and Sam.

“Actually, I'm gonna be putting you two in the afternoon group.”

“What? Why?” you asked.

“Well, to be frank, uh, the relationship that you two have with your brother seems dangerously codependent. I think a little time apart will do you both good,” he smiled.

He walked away with Sam and Martin, but you two frowned as you watched them go.

“What do we do now?” Dean asked.

“I guess we just hang here a bit until they come back. We can’t do anything without them. Well, I mean we could, but it’ll be like us chasing our tails.”

“Then let’s play,” he smiled, moving a chair out for you at a table with a checkers board on it.

“Don’t mind if I do,” you grinned, taking a seat.

Dean sat opposite of you and set up the board, giving you the red ones and him the black. When everything was set up, he made the first move, and the game started. When the score was tied, you held up a hand and got up from your seat.

“Don’t cheat. I’m going to use the bathroom,” you chuckled before walking away.

As you turned the corner, you looked back to see Dean speaking to someone even though no one was there to begin with.

After a long afternoon, you and Dean followed several patients down the hall, Dean’s hands in his pockets and staring at the floor. He was kind of depressed, but you didn’t know why he was. He claimed a doctor came to him while you were away to talk about his father, but you were only gone for five minutes. Just as you two passed by a door, it opened and Sam walked out and joined you two.

“Dean, hey. You okay?”

“He’s having a tough time. Please tell us you found something.”

“Yeah. A guy, Ted, says he saw the creature. We should talk to him. You wanna meet here in an hour?”

“Yeah, sooner we take care of this thing, sooner we can get gone. This place gives me the creeps,” he shivered.

Turning around, you come face to face with a patient who just smiled. Before you could say anything, she grabs the back of your neck and kisses you just like that. Your eyes went wide as did the brothers, and she pulled away with a seductive smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi…?”

“I’m Wendy.”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded.

She slapped your ass as she passed by you to leave, and you watched her with a confused look.

“Dude—”

“Not a word, Winchester,” you glared at Dean who lost his smile.

He cleared his throat and pretended what he saw didn’t affect him in anyway.

After hours, when you knew the nurses would be on their rounds, you and Dean met his brother outside of his cell. Sam had the lock pick he managed to sneak into the place. He knew of the guy that saw the monster you were looking for, and you were going to need to talk to him if you wanted to get this case over and done with as soon as possible.

“Well, it's about time. Nurses are on their rounds. We got, like, fifteen, twenty minutes. So, where is this guy?” Dean asked.

“Room 306,” Sam informed, leading the trio to the room.

It didn’t take long since Sam’s was near his. When you approached the door, you heard Ted screaming in fear. The monster must be in there, and your hands turned blue to get the door opened faster than a lock pick would. The brothers moved out of the way, and right before your hands could touch the door, Ted’s feet slammed against the window so that you couldn’t see inside the place.

“Hurry up! Come on, hurry up!” Dean urged.

Shaking your head, you placed your hands flat on the door as you let your magic do its thing to get the door unlocked. As soon as the door clicked, you opened it only to see Ted hanging from a pipe in the ceiling with a tied bed sheet around his neck.

“Damn it!” you exclaimed.

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[thiswomanshouldbewriting]

Do Not Touch Him (for the love of God)

My first Ineffable Husbands fic! I swear this pairing has hit me with the force of a truck, and now it's holding my heart and brain hostage. I can't think of anything else. Yes, the title comes from the tumblr-famous quote: You can break my soul, take my life away, beat me, hurt me, kill me, but for the love of God don't touch him. 

Infinite thanks to my beta @simonspierisapeanut

Summary: Agnes wrote no prophecy concerning Aziraphale and Crowley's fate, so when Heaven and Hell came for them, they were not prepared to fight back.

Ao3 link. 

(??? There’s no more nice spacer to put in tumblr posts? Or is my tumblr acting crazy again? sigh)

After helping stop Armageddon, Aziraphale and Crowley had known that Heaven and Hell were not happy with them. They’d been expecting some kind of retribution. They’d just not expected things to go this bad this quickly. Crowley had thought he was being careful, keeping an attentive eye on their surroundings, but one moment they were buying ice creams in the park, and the next they were being attacked from all sides. Oh, they’d tried to put on a fight, but they were just an angel and a demon against the joined forces of Heaven and Hell; they’d never stood a chance. Still, Crowley had done his best (worst?) to try and stop them from carrying his angel away, and the furious pounding in his head reminded him of just how many times they’d had to hit him before he finally stopped fighting. 

Now he was standing in Hell, undergoing a trial that had no purpose other than to expose his betrayal to the other demons, and he would have honestly been a lot calmer about the whole thing if only he had known that Aziraphale was safe. In a way, he’d always known that this was coming, that his life would end the moment Hell found out about him and his angel. He just hoped that Heaven would be more forgiving, even though it really didn’t have a great history of being such a thing. He wondered if, right in that moment, Aziraphale was being Damned, stripped of his status as an Angel and plummeted to Hell. Crowley had never truly fit in Hell, but for Aziraphale it would be pure torture. He had done nothing but be kind and compassionate, and he shouldn’t be punished for that. 

Crowley wasn’t surprised when he was sentenced to death; he was, however, extremely shocked to see Michael walking in, with a jug full of Holy Water.

“Where is he? Where is Aziraphale?” he asked immediately, and even though he was staring death in the face he had to admit that there was an exhilarating freedom to this, to being able to openly show his concern for his angel in front of everybody else. 

“Funny that you ask that. He was asking about you the whole time as we dragged him back to Heaven,” Michael replied with a sickening smile.

“What are you doing to him?” Crowley hissed, clenching his fists in frustration and wondering if he’d manage to punch Michael in the face before being killed by the Holy Water. Unfortunately, the answer was probably no. 

Michael pulled out a thing that looked a lot like a human smartphone, and from the way she spoke into it, it was clear that she was calling someone up in Heaven. One moment later, an old tv screen that Crowley hadn’t even noticed lit up, showing the vast, empty expanse of Heaven, and Aziraphale standing with his hands tied between Gabriel and Sandalphon. 

Crowley called the angel’s name just as Aziraphale called his. They stared at each other, trying and failing to find the right words to say, when two things happened: behind Crowley’s back, Michael started pouring the Holy Water into a tub, while in Heaven a demon - which Crowley hadn’t noticed up until then - summoned a column of demonic fire. 

The horror Crowley felt rising in himself was only comparable to the one he saw on Aziraphale’s face. All of their worst fears were becoming real, but while his angel seemed paralyzed by this, by being ultimately unable to protect Crowley, the demon had simply no more reason to contain his fury. He had nothing more to lose. 

“You BASTARDS!” he screamed at the angels, first at the ones in the screen, and then at Michael. “He’s one of yours. You should be better than this.”

“He should have been better. He should have known better, known that consorting with you could only lead to this.”

“But you… you can’t…” He was at a loss, scrambling for the miraculous words that would convince them to stop this madness, when Aziraphale’s voice calling his name brought his attention back to the screen. Crowley looked at him, begging, maybe even praying that he’d find the right words, that he’d give him hope and help him find a way out of this. 

“It’s over,” Aziraphale said instead, shaking his head in defeat. That hurt Crowley more than anything the demons had done to him that day; he felt his breath leave his lungs, and he had to clench his fists to stop his hands from trembling. There was no hope. 

“I just wish I had listened to you,” Aziraphale went on, doing his best to keep his voice from breaking. “We should have gone to Alpha Centauri when we had the chance. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

Somehow, in the sheer tragedy of it all, an old, happier memory resurfaced in Crowley’s mind.

“You’re an angel. I don’t think you can be wrong,” he said, determined to make his angel see that it was not his fault, and it could never be. 

Aziraphale went through a lot of emotions very quickly, and Crowley could see them all on the expressive face he had grown to know so well. There was shock in there, and then tenderness, and despair and regret and, finally, determination. 

“I love you.”

The angels gasped in shock while the demons snickered in the background, and yet Crowley heard nothing of all of it. All he could see was Aziraphale, his angel, and his eyes full of sadness and honesty and love. It hurt. It hurt more than Holy Water ever could, because it was real and it was wonderful and it was too late.

“No!” he screamed, letting out his wings as he all but threw himself at Hastur, showing him out of the way as he desperately, foolishly tried to make a run for it. He would give them a fight. He would give them hell for taking everything away from him. He kept on screaming, calling Aziraphale, cursing Heaven and Hell alike, but all of his rage could do nothing against the sheer force of numbers. Someone pushed him towards the tub, and when the back of his legs hit the edge of it he lost his balance. As he fell backwards towards his death, he glanced back at the screen showing Heaven, and saw the angels pushing Aziraphale towards the fire. He hoped he’d die before he could hear Aziraphale scream. He hoped he’d make enough of a splash for the water to hit Dagon or maybe Beelzebub; someone had to pay for this. He closed his eyes, plummeting towards the water as he’d once plummeted towards Hell, and braced himself for the pain. 

Except the pain never came. He fell into the tub ungracefully, hitting his nape on the edge, Holy Water splashing around and soaking him from head to toe in a second, and yet as the ripples and waves calmed down he sat in the tub, unscathed. For a moment, he was too shocked to fully realize what was going on. Demons were screaming in terror and rage all around him, accusing Michael of tricking them, but they knew there was no trick. They’d seen the Holy Water work, they’d tested it to make sure. Crowley was simply immune to it, and Hastur seemed to be having a stroke. 

After taking a moment to make sure that he really wasn’t hallucinating, Crowley gathered all of his courage and dared glance at what was going on in Heaven. It would have been the top of cruelty for him to survive only to see Aziraphale burning, but his angel was standing just fine in the fire, looking at him with the same shock Crowley felt. 

There was a beat of silence, and then Crowley started laughing. A hysterical, almost crazy laugh, of adrenaline and relief and disbelief. Aziraphale joined him, still burning in the fire just like Crowley was still soaking in Holy Water. This was a Miracle. Not a miracle, they’d done hundreds, no, thousands of those, but not even with their powers combined could they have ever done something one tenth as powerful as this. This was a Miracle, the kind only God could make, and for some reason She needed them alive. Crowley realized it with shocking clarity, and he was sure that angels and demons were slowly coming to the same realization as well. No one would touch them now. They were safe, and they’d be for a long time. 

“Well, as lovely as the company here is, I’m afraid I have to go now. Angel, meet me at our third alternative rendezvous. I trust you remember which one it is,” Crowley said, stepping out of the tub. All demons, including the ones protected behind the glass, stepped back in fear as he dripped Holy Water all around. Michael, the only one who could have at least tried to stop him, looked rather mutinous, but wise enough not to try anything. There were times when even an Archangel had to take a hint. 

They arrived at the bandstand at the same time, but from opposite sides. Seeing Aziraphale’s familiar silhouette from afar made Crowley feel too many things at once, none of which particularly demonic. Relief. Happiness. But also trepidation, a nervousness he wouldn’t have been able to explain or describe if asked. He tried to tone it down, to keep a cool facade, but he felt his legs moving faster almost on their own volition, and by the time he and Aziraphale finally reached each other he was almost running. His angel had done the same, and now they were standing at the center of the bandstand, having nearly run into each other, with barely any space between them, nearly touching but not quite. The air between them felt like a barrier, one that, for a few tense moments, they were too afraid to break. They stared at each other, taking in the ruffled hair, the bruises, all the marks of the battle they’d fought and come out of alive. 

It was Aziraphale who broke the tension. He lunged forward, doing one thing that, in over six thousand years of friendship, he’d never done: he hugged Crowley. He wrapped his arms around his demon, hands running almost furiously along his back, his arms, as if to check that he was real, that he was alive and as unscathed as he looked. Crowley froze at first, unable to fully process what was happening, but his angel’s hands were so soft and gentle against his skin (and oh, how he hated his jacked for being in the way) that he didn’t care anymore about keeping up his facade. He all but melted in Aziraphale’s embrace, wrapping his arms around his angel and sighing softly as he buried his face against his neck. He had known for a long time how nice Aziraphale smelled, but up close it was simply intoxicating. He wanted to stay buried in his arms like this forever.

“You’re alive,” Aziraphale whispered against his ear, and it was with horror that Crowley realized his angel was crying. “When I saw the Holy Water I thought… I feared…” he couldn’t say it, he couldn’t even quite wrap his mind around it, around the horror that he had felt when all of his worst fears had suddenly seemed to come true, but Crowley understood nonetheless, because he had felt the same. 

Aziraphale sobbed quietly into his shoulder for a while, and when he eventually pulled back minutes or hours or centuries later he tried to smile, but there was tension in his eyes. 

“You remember what I said right before they tried to kill us?” he started off hesitantly, and Crowley felt his heart break a little, steeling himself for rejection, expecting Aziraphale to take a step back, to say that fear made him say too much, go too fast. 

“I meant those words. Truly. And I wanted to know if… if you feel the same.”

Of course I do, Crowley thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, actually. He just stood there, gaping at his angel and trying to form words, but only coming up with inarticulate sounds. After all this time, all this longing, all this fear, he wasn’t sure he could cope with this. The fact that he had spent centuries if not millennia waiting for this moment didn’t mean he was in any way ready for it. So he nodded, slowly, as if he didn’t quite remember how the movement was supposed to work, but for Aziraphale it was enough. He closed the distance between them once more, but this time he went for Crowley’s lips.  

Crowley had been sure that tub full of Holy Water would kill him. He had been wrong. This, this was going to kill him. Kissing Aziraphale was everything he’d imagined and even more; sure, it was awkward and a bit messy at first, but it was like coming home, like finally being at peace with the other half of his soul. There was nothing angelic in the way Aziraphale kissed him; it was hungry and passionate, and the thought made him smile against his angel’s lips. 

“Could you give me a lift back to your apartment?” Aziraphale asked some time later, as they walked through the park hand in hand. 

“I thought I went too fast for you,” Crowley replied, only half-joking. He had always been the one to offer Aziraphale rides and a place to stay. Now, with their roles suddenly reversed, he needed to be sure. 

“Not anymore, my dear. Not anymore.”