#thank you though i hope you like the little 'ziraphale!

[thatmightyheart]

Hi! Now that Good Omens season two is out, do you plan on releasing any more Good Omens merch? I have your little angel Aziraphale enamel pin, but I never managed to get the matching Crowley one, so I was hoping you'd do a rerun.

hi! sorry but i'm really unlikely to do re-runs of my gomens merch, anything that's up on my shop currently is all that's left!

[roseskiesandbutterflies]

My Melancholy Blues (Good Omens One-Shot)

Summary: 1923. When Aziraphale bumps into a rather drunk Crowley for the first time after their fight at St James's Park, he's hellbent on helping the poor dear. Pun not intended. But maybe it isn't just Crowley who needs help. After all, what is it we say about coincidences?

Warning(s): alcohol, swearing, cigarettes, angst

Word Count: 2.1k+

A/N: I’m back! I’ll be quick because this is for the DTIYS from @whiteleyfoster and it needs to be up by the end of September to be considered and September in the UK ends in 2.5 hours. Classic me leaving this until the last minute. Anyway I hope you enjoy, sorry about the angst but it just kind of happened. Whoops. Also the title comes from My Melancholy Blues by Queen! The song isn't a perfect match to this fic but the vibe is similar enough for me to like it.

"Hey, 'ziraphale," Crowley slurred from the rooftop he was perched precariously on, waving like a lunatic, "Cooee!"

He watched as the small white blob that was hopefully the angel in question stopped dead in his tracks. Something not all that dissimilar to astonishment washed over his face, before looking up warily, almost scared of what he would find. Shock soon turned to concern when he saw that Crowley was, in fact, sitting on the roof of the Ritz with a ridiculously lopsided grin on his face. Honestly, he thought to himself, a little over sixty years and not a single word, and then I find him drunk in the middle of London. Typical. He shook off the thought with a hardly noticeable eye-roll before calling back, "Crowley? What on Earth are you doing up there?"

Crowley made a face at him, "What does it look like I'm doing?" He waved the bottle of wine he was holding in Aziraphale's vague direction before taking a swig of it.

"I can see that," he said, speaking a little more slowly when he started to realise just how drunk Crowley was, "What I meant was why are you drinking on the roof of the Ritz?"

"The view up here's great! You can see Buckingham Palace from up here!" he said, quite keen at defending his choice of location.

"Surely there's a nicer place to drink in, though? Perhaps somewhere warmer?" he suggested, really quite worried now that he could see how little Crowley was wearing.

"Nah, I was in this club in the East End but the music was a bit shit so I left," he shrugged.

"Right," he nodded unsurely, "And it never occurred to you to go to another bar?"

Crowley suddenly looked very offended, pouting like an extraordinarily petulant child, "Why are you so worried about where I drink? I thought you didn't care about me or something. 'S a bit suspicious if you ask me."

"No, no. Curious is all," Aziraphale said, blatantly avoiding the issue they hadn't got round to resolving yet. No matter how annoyed he was at Crowley, and how the latter must feel towards him, he didn't think he could bear to fight with him again. He'd much rather dance around the truth for a little while longer.

Crowley, even in his not quite sober state of mind, seemed to understand, though the tension was so thick it wasn't exactly difficult. He quickly changed the subject, "You should come up here, angel, you'd like it. Promise."

He looked so hopeful and even vulnerable, as if his whole world was about to come crashing down and Aziraphale sitting with him was the only thing that could stop it. If he'd refused then that would have made him very heartless indeed, and that simply wouldn't do. Though luckily for him, he didn't have the time to even briefly consider the proposal before he found himself sitting by Crowley's side, staring down at where he'd just been standing. He shifted himself so he opposite him, with his back leaning against the chimney post, feeling considerably steadier than he was before.

"Well," Crowley looked at him expectantly, "What do you think?"

Aziraphale blinked before murmuring, "I think you look lovely, my dear. The blue of your dress really compliments the colour of your hair-"

He was cut off by Crowley's undignified snort, "Well, thanks, angel, but I meant the view. Not my dress. Though I'm glad you like it," he reassured him quickly when he noticed his mortified expression.

Aziraphale's tense expression softened like melted butter when he finally looked at the breath-taking landscape surrounding the two of them, encompassing them in the odd security that comes with strangely empty cities. Crowley was right, you could see Buckingham Palace from the rooftop, as well as St James's Park and Berkeley Square and the rest of Piccadilly. Incandescent lights shone from the streets below, but they were nothing compared to the forget-me-not blue of midnight skies above them, dusted with millions of stars like icing sugar on a cake. "Oh," he sighed softly, wholly content and at peace with the world, "Oh, Crowley, it's beautiful. It's, well, I never realised London could be so..." he trailed off, left speechless from awe.

Crowley grinned up at him, "Just wait until the sun comes up. Won't be long now."

Aziraphale's smile faded ever so slightly, "You say that like you've been up here before," he said gently, trying hard not to come off as accusatory.

Crowley's face morphed into one a child might wear when caught with their hand in the cookie jar, but he quickly shrugged it off, leaving it for Aziraphale to mull over by himself. "Drink?" he offered, holding out the bottle of wine.

"Oh, a drink would be lovely, thank you," he smiled, taking it cautiously and sipping at it, letting the alcohol seep in and ease his aching mind.

"What are you doing out this time of night, anyway?" Crowley asked innocently as he took the bottle back from him.

"I-I fancied a walk. Been spending far too much time indoors recently. Needed some fresh air," Aziraphale stammered out, passing the bottle back even though he could have easily finished it off right there and then.

Crowley hummed in response, deciding not to question it even though his gut was screaming at him, screaming that he was lying, he needs help, he needs someone, anyone.

He needs you. Just as much as you need him.

He decided to ignore his intuition because ignorance was far easier than the truth. It slid down like honey and soothed your soul, however temporarily.

"So, the nineteen-twenties," Crowley mused, letting his eyes dance over his surroundings, "'S been an interesting decade so far, hasn't it? Great nightlife. And the fashion, ooh. I've really been enjoying this whole flapper thing. What d'you make of it all, angel?"

It took Aziraphale a moment to respond, "I-I can't say I'd noticed much," he murmured, eyes hellbent on avoiding Crowley's.

Don't look into my eyes. Don't look into them, my love, because if you do, you'll know everything. I'll have no more secrets left, none at all. And I don’t think I can handle that.

The alarm bells in Crowley's head were deafening by that point, even he couldn't ignore them any longer. "Noticed what?" he asked, cautiously placing the wine bottle behind him, deathly terrified of the answer.

"Any of it," he said, voice no louder than a whisper, "I haven't noticed any of it."

Crowley's eyes widened as he tried his best to push down this rising tide of dread inside of him, "Angel-"

"Don't, Crowley," he pleaded, voice breaking but desperately trying to hide it. It was when he finally dared to glance at him that Crowley could finally see the vulnerability and the fear and the anxiety and just about every other emotion that humans had a name for. "Please, don't make me explain, I can't-" he stopped midsentence, inhaling deeply, desperately attempting to pull himself together, "I don't want to talk about it."

Crowley momentarily looked like he was about to object, and Aziraphale’s heart would have skipped a beat if he had one, but he didn’t, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. He let himself wonder, for a fleeting second, if perhaps he hadn’t been alone in his weird and confusing feelings. For he had felt this strange sense of loneliness for decades after their fight back in 1867. He’d spent much longer than a few decades without his angel before, but that time had been different, had stung in a way that struck him to his very core. Maybe there was a chance that Aziraphale had felt much the same way. Maybe they were more alike than he thought. He brushed off these thoughts as quickly as they’d arrived; it was unwise to ponder these things while in the presence of others. Instead of making a comment that wasn’t likely to be welcomed with open arms per se, he nodded deeply, oozing with understanding.

Crowley would be a hypocrite if he said that he wouldn’t mind being interrogated like that if he was in Aziraphale’s position, and he was sure he’d already worked most of it out.

Aziraphale softened in relief, the unshed tears in his eyes glistening like gemstones in the glow of the sun that was just starting to rise, creeping slowly up his face as it peered over the London skyline. Crowley couldn’t help it if his eyes lingered on the angel’s face. The logical side of him knew that angels were ethereal by nature, but only now was he starting to understand why. He seemed to literally glow gold with the dawn, outshining the sun and putting it to shame. His ivory suit had been dyed champagne by the sun’s rays, champagne, the colour of the drinks people downed with ease, the colour of the streetlights below them. His eyes were sapphires buried behind a veil of melancholy, framed with the wrinkles that came with centuries upon centuries of things to find joy in.

Oh, the irony, Crowley thought sadly to himself. He forced himself to cast his eyes away, feeling Aziraphale starting to squirm under his stare, instead looking at the Marlboro Red which had materialised in his hand miraculously, or not, depending on how you looked at it. He lit it with a click of his fingers, taking a drag and offering it to Aziraphale. No words had to be said; they’d known each other for long enough, they could say anything with no more than a look.

He eyed it nervously but only for a second, vulnerability taking over and impulses kicking in, and it was in his hand and he was breathing it in before he could even register what he was doing. The smoke waltzed circles around them before leaping away in the early morning breeze. Sparks flew off the cigarette as Aziraphale passed it back, glowing crimson in the sunrise, dying embers of a phoenix blowing away in the lapis blue of the sky.

They sat in the strangely comforting silence for a few moments, the dawn bringing with it its own eery peace. It wasn’t until the cigarette had nearly burnt away completely did Aziraphale finally murmured something, “Will we be okay, Crowley? You and me? Will we be alright?”

Crowley blinked back at him in surprise for a second before mumbling, “I don’t think I understand.”

“I think you do,” he said, voice filled with the spirit of the clouds above them, sweet and gentle and oh-so-soft, “Will we be alright?”

Crowley took advantage of the now burnt out cigarette to think of a response, leaving it to fall out of his hand and onto the pavement below, watching the ashes scatter over the London streets as if he was mourning them, “Yeah. I think we’ll be okay. Do you?”

“I hope so,” he said, voice no louder than a whisper but speaking volumes all the same. A single tear escaped, a drip of molten gold running down his face.

There was a lump in Crowley’s own throat just at the sight of his angel, and at the overwhelming meaning of those three simple words. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and brushing the tear away and my, hadn’t they gotten rather close. Aziraphale melted like butter under his touch and Crowley’s heart could burst just looking at him. Suddenly he was pressed up to the demon’s chest, arms hesitantly snaking around him, leaving Crowley speechless in shock for no more than a second. He quickly wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, resting his chin on the top of his head as the angel buried his face in his chest. They fit like two pieces of a puzzle that had remained unsolved for far too long, both of them internally sighing in relief and shouting for joy because they knew that this was where they needed to be. Neither let go, for neither wanted to, and they held each other as the dawn sun watched over them, casting its protective glow over a moment that deserved to be shielded from prying eyes.

And in the years to come, they would both act like that fateful night in nineteen twenty three had never happened, tucking the memory away in a far-flung corner of their minds and putting the whole thing down to alcohol’s wicked influence. But, no matter how much denial they would put themselves through in the next century or so, they both remembered in the depths of their hearts the words that had been said and the words that had been buried deep between the lines.

[earsofducks]

Awake the Snake but October Because of that One Neil Gaiman Post

(Have I already done this because of #ineffable husband au week? Yes. I have. Am I doing it again? Yes. I am.)

“Hi, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do; do it with style.” 

Message received June 2, 2020. 

“Hello, Crowley, this is Aziraphale. I was wondering - well, it was a bit silly of me, but I was wondering if perhaps you’d decided to forego the extra month of your nap. I understand, of course, why you feel compelled to sleep through all of this - dreadful things are happening, and I am completely powerless to stop them, and it is most unpleasant - but I had hoped... Never mind. I hope you sleep well, dear boy.”

Beep.

Message received June 10, 2020.

“Hello, it’s Aziraphale again. I presume from your lack of response that you’re still sleeping. But just allow me to tell you what has been going on...

Several minutes later...

And it’s been incredibly dreary to be facing all this alone. I’m sure you would understand if you were awake. And... well, never mind. I hope you sleep well, Crowley.”

Beep.

Message received June 29, 2020.

“Me again. I must say, my dear boy, I am so looking forward to seeing you in a few days! I - oh, dear. I do hope that you’re planning on waking up earlier in the month as opposed to later, because it all gets to be a bit... well. It’s a bit overwhelming without you, Crowley, to speak plainly. I quite miss our little chats. If you - well, I can’t imagine how overwhelming waking up to it all, but I’ll be here, you know, if you ever wanted to - er - discuss current events. Perhaps over a glass of wine? We can form ‘bubbles,’ now, you know. I’m sure it would be lovely to have you at the bookshop, if you were inclined to come visit. Which you could, because of bubbles. That is to say - oh, bother it all, Crowley, I’m sure you know what I mean. Please telephone me once you’ve woken up. There’s no rush, of course. But I would quite like to hear from you. Well, anyway. I hope the last bit of your nap is deeply restful.”

Beep.

Message received July 3, 2020.

“Hello. I know that you’re asleep again, but I was m - making some, er, cakes, and they’re - I’m waiting for - I wanted to speak - hrm. I appreciate you informing me on the extension of your nap, of course, and understand the motivation behind it, but I had hoped that maybe - well. Thank you very much for your call. I hope that you’re obtaining everything you wanted from the extra sleep.”

Beep.

Message received July 19, 2020.

“I can’t recall whether or not you mentioned receiving the numerous messages that I left when we spoke on the telephone at the beginning of this month, but I do hope that these voice recordings aren’t tiresome for you to listen to. Oh, dear. Probably I should have considered this before I started leaving you so many. You understand, though, don’t you? Oh, dear. I truly don’t want to be a bother, I simply... I miss you, Crowley. I miss you very much and I wish you weren’t sleeping. There, I said it.”

Beep.

Message received July 19, 2020, five minutes later.

“But I don’t want to be a bother, so I shall stop calling.”

Beep.

Message received July 31, 2020.

“I tried very hard to restrain myself, but upon reflection I’ve realized that you are under no obligation to listen to these messages if they distress you in any way, and I believe there is no reason for me to stop sending them to you. In light of this, allow me to tell you...

Lengthy story (in which Aziraphale details his many dealings with the day’s customers) ommitted.

Message received August 18, 2020.

“I’ve found myself foolishly hoping that you’ll wake early quite frequently. I miss you dearly, Crowley. I know I’ve said it before, and I know that we have spent significantly longer apart in the past, but I... Well. I miss you. I hope you’re enjoying your nap. I’m sure it’s vastly preferable to the experience those of us that are more or less awake are having.”

Beep.

Message received September 8, 2020.

“There’s - hic - there’s something else. A reason. For me to want to call - hic - you. I... (A pause, some displeased sounds) Ah. I think I was quite drunk. Forgive my impropriety.”

Beep.

Message received September 12, 2020.

“(a long silence) Crowley - (a sharp intake of breath) I think I love you, you know. Not - bother it all. Of course I love you - how could I not? We’ve been working together for six thousand years, after all. We are friends. We have always been friends. I have never thought you a foul fiend. But I don’t just love you - it’s not just friendship, is it? Not for me. Or for you, I don’t think. This probably isn’t the time or place to tell you this, is it? I apologize. (Not for loving you. I’m through apologizing for loving you.)

Beep.

Message received September 13, 2020.

“Oh, dear. I suspect that I may have said some very... forward things last night. I‘ve been drinking a smidge more than might be deemed strictly advisable, lately. This is no excuse, of course, and I apologize for whatever... sentiment I may have communicated. (pause) Although you’re not likely to hear this until much later, are you?

Beep.

Message received September 21, 2020.

“I know what I said and I meant it, I meant it, I meant it.”

Beep.

Message received September 29, 2020.

“Did you know, Crowley, that time has never moved so slowly as it has since you’ve started sleeping? Never. Not once in my very long life have I experienced this absolutely torturous sense of waiting.” Beep.

Message received September 30, 2020.

“I’ve made up my mind. Tomorrow morning I shall come and hang on your doorbell until you wake up and let me in, and I am... Heaven help me, Crowley, I am going to tell you. I love you. I’ll see you in the morning.

I love you.”

Beep.

***

Crowley wakes to the sound of his doorbell ringing incessantly and incredibly obnoxiously. His mind is fuzzy and so are his teeth and his body isn’t quite sure how to be awake and his brain is even less so. 

“Abubwefgsh,” he says, trying to remember how to use words. 

The doorbell rings louder.

“Aghckssssss,” says Crowley, covering his ears and scrunching up his face. 

What... What...

Day. Awake. Sleep. Long. 

Aziraphale.

He sits up. 

It’s very unlikely, of course, why would Aziraphale be at his flat, but the thought is thrilling and apparently enough to get him out of bed.

He’s much more wobbly than normal (he remembers having trouble walking after his century-long nap, too) but manages to make it to the door.

He opens it without checking the peephole, because he’s never used the peephole in his life, and promptly wishes that he had checked, because now he’s...

Now he’s even more discombobulated than he was before. 

Aziraphale is here. He’s here, and that makes Crowley’s head spin, and he’s brushing past Crowley into the apartment, and that’s making Crowley’s heart do some impressive acrobatics, and, worst of all, he’s smiling.

“Good morning, darling!” he says brightly, turning to face Crowley.

“Ngaaaaaaagh,” says Crowley, trying to shield his eyes. He can’t handle a smiley Aziraphale this early in the morning. It’s too...

Hang on.

“Azzzzzzzmbrflwumph,” says Crowley, trying to address the ‘darling’ situation.

“I’ve missed you dearly,” continues Aziraphale, ignoring Crowley’s inner turmoil, “and during my time without you it occurred to me that I have not told you I love you.”

That stops all of Crowley’s thought processes faster than any thought processes have ever stopped before. When some semblance (although the resemblance is very, very slight) of capable thought returns, he finds that he has been emitting a high-pitched, teakettle-like noise for an indeterminate amount of time. Also, he’s crying.

“Oh, my dear,” says Aziraphale, hands fluttering between them. Crowley is not awake enough for this. Crowley cries harder. “Oh, dear, oh, dear,” says Aziraphale, distinctly distressed. “I ought to have waited until you were more awake.”

“Yesssssssssssssss you bloody well should have,” sobs Crowley, and then Aziraphale murmurs something apologetic and asks if he can hug Crowley. Crowley is incapable of communicating at all but somehow Aziraphale understands him anyway and pulls him into a hug that is tight and warm and safe and comforting. He immediately feels better but continues crying for awhile, feeling embarrassed but unable to pull himself together. Eventually he slows to a few shuddering gasps every so often, and then he tugs away from Aziraphale.

“Sssssorry,” he says, “I don’t - I can’t - ”

“Oh, my dearest,” says Aziraphale, still looking incredibly concerned. “No need to apologize. That was my fault. Horribly inconsiderate of me. I had months to come to terms with my feelings, and you - ”

“Love you more than anything, ‘ziraphale, c - ” his body does the post-intense-crying-session thing where it interrupts him because he needs to take deep breaths - ”’course I do. Always have.”

“Oh, Crowley,” says Aziraphale, eyes shining, and Crowley would kiss him right then and there except he’s not even breathing evenly yet and he probably looks a right mess and also he just woke up.

Suddenly it is all very much and he crosses his arms in front of himself. He wants to take Aziraphale’s hand, but knows instinctively that it would be Too Much.

“Want some breakfast?” he asks, and Aziraphale beams at him. He squints, scowling and muttering something about silly bright angels, and makes for the kitchen to scramble some eggs.

***

Later, they will talk about things properly. Later, there will be first kisses. Later, Crowley will sit down and listen to all of Aziraphale’s messages and cry again.

But for now, sitting in his kitchen, sipping his coffee and watching Aziraphale ‘mm’ his way through breakfast and feeling scattered and hot and unable to think directly about what just happened, he knows, for the first time ever, that Aziraphale loves him back. 

It is more than enough.

[cryptidkieren]

come around (4/6)

hi guys!! im sorry this took so long to get out, but these chapters are steadily getting longer (over 5000 on this one alone!!) and im working 2 jobs so balancing all that has been fun :)

yesterday was my BIRTHDAY so i cranked out the last 2000 words to get it out asap

hope you like it! 💛💛

ao3 link

-----

Crowley slept for a week and a half.

Aziraphale barely left his side during the first few days. He was strung as tight as a bow, his anxiety through the roof, as he waited for Heaven or Hell to come after them.

They didn’t, though, thank- someone.

By the time the angel finally calmed down enough to roam the apartment freely, Crowley’s wounds had healed completely. Only a thin white scar was left of the gaping wound on his chest, thankfully, though he knew the demon would be cross. Having gone close to 300 years without another miraculously healed injury would leave him a bit sour now that his streak was broken. Removing scars from their corporations that were healed with divine (or occult, on occasion) powers was difficult, so it was better in the long run to leave them be.

Aziraphale was prepared to deal with his pouting and snark, only because he knew how close Crowley had come to total destruction.

In his weaker moments, Aziraphale wished he had laid waste to Hastur that day in the alley for daring to harm his demon. The guilt would come rushing in, of course, even though he knew it was more than the revolting demon deserved.

He was less guilty about the righteous anger he felt towards the Archangels.

The angel didn’t know when they would come for him after the stunt he pulled with Uriel’s dagger, but he knew it would happen like he knew how he would react.

Aziraphale had chosen his side, after all, and nothing would get in his way of protecting Crowley.

-----

The day before the Winter Solstice, Crowley finally woke up.

Aziraphale had just returned to the sparse flat after checking in at the book shop, a take out cup of tea steaming in his hand, when saw his companion shuffling out of the bedroom. He nearly dropped the cup when he saw how the demon looked.

Crowley looked like death warmed over, his skin paler than normal from being inside for so long. His hair was a right mess and he was still without a shirt, his dark boxers slung low on his hips. The late afternoon sun streamed through the picture windows of the living room, setting the entire apartment ablaze in warm golden light.

He imagined this was a glimpse of what Crowley was like before he Fell.

“‘Lo, ‘Ziraphale,” he yawned, completely oblivious to Aziraphale’s inner turmoil. The demon lurched towards him suddenly, forcing a very undignified noise out of the angel.

The paper cup was stolen from his hand as Aziraphale blushed hotly, silently cursing his racing heart to Hell and back. Crowley hummed as he sipped on the tea, grimacing comically when he swallowed.

“Ugh, you always make your tea too sweet, angel.” The demon peered at him, his amber eyes still a little foggy with sleep. His cheeks were a bit flushed, faint pillow creases marking one side of his face, good Lord- “Why’re you so red? You alright?”

“It’s cold!” Aziraphale blurted out in a panic as his heart practically beat out of his chest. “Very cold, yes! Wasn’t very prepared, to be honest, those winds could sweep someone off their feet!”

Crowley scrutinized him a moment longer before appearing to accept the explanation, as inane as it was. The angel felt his ears burn as chagrin filled him, pressing a hand to his face before following the demon into the kitchen.

Propped up on the high bar stools at the island counter, Crowley sat hunched over the warm cup, the plastic lid tossed to the side. He looked about ready to fall back to sleep, despite how long he had been out already.

“How are you feeling, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked as he struggled to get onto the next seat at the counter. This happened every time, they were too bloody tall-

The demon snorted as he watched the angel wrestle himself onto the stool. “Loads better, honestly. Though I’m not really digging the new addition, if you know what I mean.” He gestured to the long scar across his chest with a sneer.

“I don’t think it’s terrible,” Aziraphale puffed, slightly out of breath from his battle with the chair. “It’s dashing, I think. Though I suppose you’re pleased that the one on your arm is gone.”

He reached over to touch the area of Crowley’s bicep where the cut had previously been. The skin there was perfect, as if nothing had happened in the first place. Non-miraculously healed injuries that befell them usually disappeared without a trace after a few days, so after taking out the stitches a day later, the demon was right as rain.

Aziraphale suddenly realized he was stroking the area where the injury had occupied and felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. He glanced up at the demon, his cheeks flaming, as he stuttered out an apology. Crowley seemed a bit red himself as he bit into his bottom lip and turned his head away.

It was stiflingly quiet between them for a moment, the angel’s awkwardness growing by the second.

“Well!” Aziraphale yelped, a few octaves higher than he would’ve liked. “It’s good you woke up when you did, my dear, since Anathema’s party is tomorrow night!”

“Is it really?” Crowley sounded just like he always did, if a bit choked. The angel felt his heart drop a bit at the clear intent to dismiss what just happened. It was what he wanted, of course, but…

“I can’t believe I let Hastur, of all people, catch me by surprise and send me into a week long coma,” the demon lamented, almost knocking over the tea when he dropped his head into his hand dramatically.

“It was a week and a half, actually,” Aziraphale interrupted softly. He picked up the discarded cup lid to fiddle with, but mostly so he wouldn’t have to look the demon in the eyes. “A very long week and a half, but only just that. It could’ve been much worse.”

Crowley was silent for a short time after that. So when a cool hand covered his own, it forced Aziraphale to look up at his companion. His eyes swam with regret and fondness and- something else the angel couldn’t name.

“I am sorry, Aziraphale, for putting you through that,” the demon said equally softly. “But I’m just as glad that you were there. I don’t think any other angel could’ve scared Hastur so completely.”

Aziraphale smiled at the demon’s grin, patting his hand gently and, after a second of hesitation, dared to leave it there. “I’m glad I was there too, dear. Now, let’s head to the parlour to wrap these presents before tomorrow finds us. I waited for you.”

Crowley’s smile widened as his eyes sparkled with mischief, the sheer beauty of him making the angel lose his breath. Before he knew it, the demon had taken off towards the living room, where the presents had been piled high when the angel had nothing better to do.

Aziraphale found his lost breath and heaved a sigh, following after his demon. Crowley was going to be the death of him, he was sure.

-----

The following morning was hectic, to say the least. They had both fallen asleep on the living room rug, empty wine glasses knocked over and bits of wrapping paper strewn about. Aziraphale had been so relieved to have his friend back that the exhaustion that had plagued him from the day in the alley caught up, knocking him unconscious for the first time in a few decades after a glass too many. All of the presents had to be piled into the back of the Bentley, completely blocking the rear window, to Aziraphale’s distress.

Crowley had reassured him (“It’ll be fine, angel, I’ve been driving since they invented the car!”) but the angel wasn’t convinced.

They were on the road shortly after, though not before coming to a sort of compromise to keep them both sane during the trip. The music would be a touch louder than Aziraphale liked it, while Crowley drove a few notches slower than he preferred (if only to protect his leather armrests from the angel’s whiteknuckled grip).

Once they left London proper, the scenery flew by. The rolling green hills that usually surrounded the road were covered in powdery snow. It was almost blindingly white in the midmorning sun, making everything feel like a storybook.

It was peaceful, in a way their lives hadn’t been since moving to London all those centuries ago. The complete absence of towering buildings, the smell of the streets, and the ever present aura of so many people in one place was staggering compared to the open, quiet hills of the country.

Aziraphale’s thoughts aimlessly drifted during the ride. Crowley was surprisingly silent, only humming idly along with the long standing Queen tape. Before they knew it, the small sign for Tadfield village was upon them and they were rolling down the ancient cobbled streets.

Jasmine Cottage was as lovely as ever, even in the dead of winter. The expected greenery that surrounded the house was replaced with bare branches and copious amounts of snow. A large evergreen wreath, strung with holly, sprigs of rosemary, and white ribbon, hung on the front door. It sang of home: a warm meal, fire in the hearth, a good conversation deep into the night.

A group of bicycles were haphazardly piled by the front gate. The beginnings of a snowman stood off in the garden, where two heavily clothed figures were pushing the vague approximation of the head. The other two children in the garden were engaged in what looked to be a snowball fight to the death. A scream of laughter was heard as snow was pushed down the back of a coat.

Aziraphale smiled, catching Crowley’s eye across the center console as they pulled up to park. The demon had his own smile, a touch fonder than his own. He always knew Crowley had a soft spot for children, but it was especially tender for this group.

A chorus of “Mr. Crowley! Mr. Zira!” erupted as they clambered out of the Bentley. The two beings were almost tossed into the snow when the Them made impact, their hugs tight enough combined to knock the wind out of them.

“Hello, children!” wheezed Aziraphale, grinning widely through the pain. His hands came up to pat the two heads closest to him, which happened to be Pepper and Wensleydale. He heard Crowley issue a similar greeting to Adam and Brian, who had clung just as tightly to the demon. “Would you mind releasing me? Getting a tad hard to breathe, you see.”

“Actually,” Wensleydale started, causing Pepper to groan next to him. Thankfully, they let go of the angel before the boy got started on his expected commentary. “If you were really asphyxiating, your body would prioritize getting air into your lungs before speaking, so if you can talk you have plenty of air.”

“That’s fascinating, my boy,” Aziraphale tugged the boy’s hat down his forehead, eliciting a giggle. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I find myself struggling for air.”

Pepper snorted. “You’re an angel, Mr. Zira, it’s not like you need to breathe anyway.”

“Well, when you’ve up kept a habit for close to 6,000 years, it’s hard to break.”

“Quite right on that, angel,” Crowley smirked at him, causing the angel to roll his eyes back. “How’s things inside, Adam? Christmas in full swing and whatnot?”

“Oh, don’t call it Christmas, please,” Brian begged. The other children nodded solemnly around him, looking far too haunted. “Anathema will be very cross if you call it Christmas.”

“He’s right, you know,” called the woman in question, startling everyone gathered in the front garden. She smirked at them from her position of leaning against one of the posts by the door, appearing quite pleased with herself. Her long, dark hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, curls spilling about freely, as her sweater-clad shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “Now, come inside before you all freeze to death. Don’t think I didn’t see you shove snow down Pepper’s jacket, Brian.”

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged looks before ushering the children indoors. The presents that had taken over the backseat of the Bentley were miraculously placed under the modest size pine tree in the front room, but who could really tell how they got there?

Anathema and Newton had really outdone themselves, though the angel had nothing to base it against. The cottage was warm and homey, the smell of cooking meat and vegetables mixing pleasantly with the burning fire in the hearth. Boughs of evergreen and vines of ivy braided with red or white ribbon consisted of most of the decorations, though Aziraphale warily eyed the sprig of mistletoe hanging in the doorway of the living room; he would have to keep himself on his toes not to get caught under it.

“Wow,” remarked Crowley, peering above his glasses at the decorations. His eye seemed to have caught on the mistletoe, too. “Looks great.”

“Oh, Newt actually did most of the decorating,” Anathema called from the kitchen, where the children had followed after shedding their outerwear at the door. Aziraphale knew the demon well enough to know he rolled his eyes at their mess before snapping his fingers, all of the coats hung up and the snow boots neatly lined against the wall. Their own coats were also magically off them and onto the hooks on the walls. Chuckling, the angel led him after the group and into the very messy kitchen.

Bowls were strewn about the counters, spoons abandoned in their own sticky mess, flour dusted almost everything in sight, and there was Newton, standing at the stove with a spatula and a grin for the newcomers. “So glad you two could make it, considering London is so far.”

“Pah,” Crowley scoffed dramatically, prompting a round of giggles from the children and a fond smile from the angel beside him. “Nothing is too far for the Bentley, Newton.”

“Newt, please, Mr. Fell.”

“Then it’s Crowley to you, Newt,” The two shook hands, all very manly like. Aziraphale had to stifle a laugh.

“Well, now that we’ve introduced ourselves again,” Anathema rolled her eyes, though her grin gave her away. “Does anyone want wine?”

Aziraphale and Crowley graciously accepted glasses, while the children were given a stern look from the witch when they asked for the same. They were each given sparkling cider instead, so there were no further complaints.

The small group drank quietly for a moment before Anathema set down her glass.

“Alright then, does anyone want to help me decorate the tree?”

Predictably, the Them jumped at the request, running and shouting their way back to the living room. The sound of something glass shattering echoed back to the adults just as the witch yelled “Don't’ run in the house!” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose under her glasses before pointing a severe finger at her boyfriend.

“We’re not having children any time soon.”

Newt only blinked, squeaking out a small “Yes, dear,” before the woman stormed off after the group of children.

Aziraphale grabbed the forgotten wine glass, watching as Crowley chuckled and turning Newt back to the stove firmly. Before the angel followed after Anathema, he heard his companion ask “How can you operate a stove without it exploding? I thought all machines were your enemy.”

The young man’s reply went unheard, instead drowned out by four pre-teens all loudly talking over each other. Aziraphale paused as he reached the doorway to the parlour, his smile growing as he watched this little group of humans they had claimed.

Anathema, her arms crossed tightly and her expression dark, only had to raise a hand to gain complete silence. A broken picture frame laid at her feet, the shards of glass scattered on the worn wood.

“I don’t want excuses,” she said quietly, since she had all of their attention. “I just want to know who broke it.”

A moment of stillness, the hesitance palpable in the air, before Adam stepped forward.

“I-I did, I’m sorry,” he murmured. He kept his eyes averted from hers, absolutely radiating regret and shame.

Anathema crouched a bit to be on eyelevel with the boy. She caught his gaze by ducking her head, a small smile on her face. “And what have we learned from this?”

“Not to run in the house…?”

“Right!” The witch’s smile widened as she stood back up. All of the children looked confused.

“You’re- You’re not going to yell? That I broke the picture?” Adam asked. His dark eyebrows were knit together, his nose scrunching up.

Anathema just put her hands on her hips. “Of course not. You already know you did something wrong and you apologized for it, so what would yelling accomplish? I’d just hurt my throat and it’s Solstice! No one should be sad today!”

Aziraphale hid his smile behind his glass, twitching his fingers to fix the broken frame. It flew back onto the table it previously occupied, the glass perfectly intact. A beautiful picture of Tonantzin, the Native Mexican goddess, sat in the frame.

The woman glanced back at him, her smile still in place as she nodded in thanks. She turned back to the group, who were inspecting the perfectly fine picture frame. “Do you guys want to set up the candles to burn later? You can make the shape whatever you want, as long as it connects together.”

The children wholeheartedly agreed to the task, immediately getting to work on the pile of long candles on the coffee table.

The angel handed Anathema her glass of wine when she joined him by the doorway. Her smile was bright as they watched the Them argue about what sort of shape they should make.

“They’re quite the handful, eh?” Aziraphale nudged her with a grin of his own.

The woman laughed into her glass. “Yeah, but they’re good kids. They’ve been helping me get this place together on the weekends.”

“I must say, you’re quite good with them,” the angel sipped at his wine, his smile fond as Brian and Adam broke out in a candlestick sword fight. “You’ll make a fantastic mother, should you choose to have any of your own.”

Anathema blushed, her smile growing wider as she looked at him. “Do you think so? Newt and I are young still, but I think I might want kids someday. Especially if they turn out like this lot.” She gestured to the children with her glass. Her eyes, hidden behind her circular glasses, were bright with emotion.

Aziraphale felt his chest tighten as he watched this young woman who he had come to admire and respect. One of his hands came up to lightly rest on her shoulder, bringing her attention back to him. “Of course I do, my dear. You and Newton will make wonderful, if entertaining, parents one day. You don't need a prophecy to tell you that.” He patted her shoulder gently as she hid her grin in her wine.

“My mother would kill me if I didn’t have a binding ceremony first. She’s still a little old fashioned that way.” Anathema giggled, her blush not receding the slightest. “What about you and Crowley, though? How long have you been married?”

Now it was the angel’s turn to flush in embarrassment. “Ah- Well, we’re not actually m-married.”

The woman raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh? Are you two just not for it? That’s understandable.”

“W-We’re actually not… Together. Like that. Romantically.”

At that, Anathema’s brows tried to merge with her hairline. “Really? That’s honestly quite- Oh, the invitation must have confused you both, sorry about that. I just assumed-”

“No no, it’s no problem, my dear,” Aziraphale waved off her apology, desperately trying to hide his burning face in his wine glass.

He knew it was over for him when a suspicious look entered Anathema’s eye.

“So… Does he know that you’re obviously in love with him?”

Aziraphale choked on his wine, briefly drawing the attention of the children. They quickly went back to their job when they saw he was alright. The witch hadn’t taken her eyes off him, cataloguing his reaction stoically.

“I-I don’t-”

All she had to do to cut the angel off was lift one of her dark brows, in a move quite reminiscent of Crowley. A moment passed between them, a battle of wills; one that Aziraphale quickly lost with a noisy sigh.

“He… Doesn’t. Feel that way about me, you see.”

Anathema then, to the angel’s surprise, snorted in disbelief. “Are you blind? He so obviously looks at you like you hung the moon, Aziraphale.”

“He really does,” piped in Adam from the couch. The other three nodded vigorously behind him. “That is, if you’re talking about Mr. Crowley. Though I suppose he would be quite put out if another person looked at you like my parents look at each other. I know my dad gets huffy when guys talk to my mom like he does.”

The angel buried his burning face in his hands, the drained wine glass hanging from his fingers. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, Crowley’s voice was suddenly right next to him.

“Alright then, what’s going on in here?”

The room was silent, no one was even breathing, before the Them broke out into giggles.

Aziraphale raised his eyes from his hands, looking at the group of humans in confusion. Even Anathema and the freshly washed Newt were chuckling. The only one who wasn’t was Crowley, who looked just as confounded as him.

Crowley. Who was standing next to the angel. Under the living room doorway.

They both seemed to understand at the same moment, tilting their heads back to gaze at the pretty sprig of mistletoe hanging above them. Aziraphale felt his already blushing cheeks positively ignite just as Crowley’s face did the same.

They blinked at each other, a moment of embarrassed hesitation passing between them, before the demon scoffed.

Aziraphale felt gentle fingers on his chin tugging him towards his companion. His own fingers tightened rather involuntarily around the delicate stem of his empty wine glass. This wasn’t how the angel imagined how their first kiss would go-

“Relax, angel,” murmured Crowley, only inches from his face. His wine-laced breath was warm where it hit Aziraphale’s mouth. The angel felt faint, as he was reminded of the similar encounter they had in the former St. Beryl convent, as mortifying as that was. If the demon didn’t do something, he was going to-

A soft pair of lips firmly pressed against his cheek, just beside his mouth. Crowley pulled away with a loud ‘smack!’ which caused the children to start laughing again. The demon looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“Did you lot really think I’d give you a free show?”

The front door opened behind them suddenly, allowing the figures of Shadwell and Madame Tracey in from the cold. The two newcomers hadn’t immediately noticed the gathering, as Shadwell was complaining about something or other in his rough brogue.

When they did notice the group, all staring at the two red faced supernatural beings, Madame Tracey only quirked a smile while her companion looked at them in confusion. “Ay, what’s all this, then? Yer waitin’ for a photo or what?”

-----

The rest of the evening passed rather comfortably after that. Wine and tea were given to the older couple and presents were passed around. The group of children gathered the most, of course, but everyone got at least one present from their otherworldly friends.

Anathema in particular was delighted by the ancient pagan books Aziraphale had gifted her, swearing to keep them safe and preserved under her care. The talisman Crowley gave her and Newt to protect the cottage against anyone who wished to do them harm was also greeted with equal enthusiasm.

Aziraphale had to nudge the demon with a grin for that one. Crowley only responded with a huff, his cheeks coloring as he muttered about “necessary precautions.”

Dinner was marvelous, though a bit pedestrian by the angel’s usual standards. Newt had turned out to be a very proficient cook, though the amount of compliments he received turned him bashful. The wine flowed as much as the laughter did, smaller pairs or groups having several conversations at once.

They continued to drink, popping open the bottle of champagne that Madame Tracey had brought around sunset. Someone had put on music at some point, soft guitar and piano mixing together to create a cozy atmosphere, though Aziraphale couldn’t tell who did to save his life.

He was comfortably chatting with Anathema and Madame Tracey in the living room when he saw Crowley flapping his arms around in a strange dance with the children. Adam and Pepper were the best at the dance, from what the angel could tell, though Wensleydale and Brian were nowhere near as bad as Crowley.

Aziraphale snorted into his half empty glass. “C-Crowley, dear, what on earth are you doing?”

“It’s called a ‘flosser!’” The demon was grinning widely, his glasses abandoned at some point in the evening, allowing his slitted eyes to sparkle with amusement.

Pepper sniggered as the boys groaned around her. “It’s not ‘flosser,’ Mr. Crowley! It’s ‘flossing!’”

The group on the couch devolved into giggles as Crowley dramatically rolled his eyes, his hips still swinging out of time with his arms and making him look quite foolish. The children continued to perform their strange dance when the demon broke off from the line, tossing himself inelegantly to sit at Aziraphale’s feet. His back was warm and solid against the angel’s shins.

Aziraphale quickly found his glass emptied.

The music on the radio changed just as the Them abandoned their dance in lieu of playing their half finished board game. Crowley, who the angel assumed had fallen asleep since he hadn’t moved in a bit, perked up as a gentle guitar sounded through the machine. He tilted his head back with a wicked grin, essentially planting it in Aziraphale’s lap.

“Want to show them real dancing, angel?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale blinked in surprise, a little woozy from the amount of glasses he had emptied during the visit. “I don’t th-think I’ll be up to a gavotte currently, dear. Think I might’ve had a tad too much.” He wiggled his glass with a smile, making Anathema and Madame Tracey laugh next to him.

Crowley rolled his eyes as he stood, taking the still wiggling glass from the angel’s hands. “That’s not dancing, Aziraphale, no one wants to see that.” It was quickly passed off to one of the women and suddenly the angel was pulled to his feet.

He stumbled a bit on the rug, firm hands holding onto his arms and keeping him upright. Crowley smirked at him as they stood in the middle of the room. “C’mon now, angel, you never let me teach you the waltz in the 17th century! You owe me!”

“I don’t believe there’s enough room for a waltz, Crowley,” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at the demon, trying to hold in his laughter at the silly excuse. He knew how much Crowley enjoyed dancing, making up crazier and more inappropriate dance trends as the centuries went on just to get a laugh. “Not quite a ballroom in Versailles, I’m afraid.”

“We’ll make due,” the demon nodded decisively, already reaching for the angel’s waist.

Aziraphale suddenly realised how bad of an idea this was.

“Ah- Well- I can’t really dance, you see,” he stuttered out as one of his hands was captured in Crowley’s own. The demon only stared at him blankly, looking unimpressed. Aziraphale held out for a moment, trying to convince him to let it go, before sighing and giving in.

Crowley’s shoulder was firm under his hand, the angel couldn’t help but notice. He tried to hide his warm face by staring at their feet.

The demon spun them in a slow, easy box step, murmuring encouragement as they went. Aziraphale eventually gained confidence after not stepping on his partner’s foot, allowing Crowley to speed up the dance to match the music.

Anathema and Newt joined them after a few minutes, spinning around in circles and laughing instead of actually dancing the waltz. Madame Tracey could be heard trying to convince Shadwell to dance, to no avail. Soon, though, the older woman was led in by Adam, making everyone smile.

The ethereal and occult pair eventually slowed their dance, only rocking in a slow circle in one spot. They had moved quite close together and Aziraphale, in all his tipsy brilliance, had rested his head against Crowley’s shoulder. He was very comfortable, if a bit bony.

“This is nice,” the angel sighed, his eyes closed. He felt more than heard the demon chuckle.

“It is,” he agreed. His voice was softer than normal, a touch deeper. Aziraphale quite liked it. “And we could’ve been doing it this whole time, too.”

Aziraphale hummed. The combination of the alcohol, the slow dance, and Crowley’s warmth was lulling him to sleep, so he chalked up the kiss he felt on his brow to his impending dreams.

“I think it’s time to go, darling,” the demon whispered. They had stopped dancing, standing in the living room wrapped up in each other. The angel hummed again, already half asleep in Crowley’s arms.

He heard a soft laugh as an arm wrapped around his waist, tugging him along. Murmured voices surrounded Aziraphale as he was moved through the cottage, his steps stumbling and clunky.

He woke a bit more when a blast of cold air hit him square in the face. They had gotten outside, his coat somehow on without his input. The full moon above them provided ample light to see, though they didn’t really need it. The snow shined in the light, making everything else seem washed out in comparison. It was quite beautiful, even the half asleep angel could recognize that.

Crowley helped him get into the Bentley, actually lifting his feet into the car when Aziraphale forgot to.

“Honestly, angel, I can’t take you anywhere,” he joked, his breath coming out in little puffs of steam. His skin was white in the moonlight, glowing like the snow that surrounded them. ‘He's quite beautiful, isn't he,’ thought the angel distantly.

The demon started to move back to close the door when Aziraphale reached for him.

“We should stay,” the angel muttered.

“What? Stay? You’re about to pass out.”

“Hmm, no, not stay stay, but get out of the city.”

Crowley was silent, causing Aziraphale to pry his eyes open (when did they close?) to see what was wrong. He was just standing there, the angel’s hand still on his wrist, looking- hopeful? Confused? Oh, he was too tired for subtlety.

“I’m asking you to run away to the country with me, Crowley.” Aziraphale grinned sleepily at him, his eyes already sliding shut again. The angel felt his hand taken off Crowley and tucked gently into his lap. He was drifting off again when he felt something brush against his cheek, almost lovingly, and a sigh.

The door was shut and the driver’s side opened, the engine rumbling to life under them. The cab was immediately filled with heated air, forcing the angel to fall further into sleep.

Before succumbing totally to his dreams, Aziraphale swore he felt fingers lace through his own and another soft sigh from beside him.

The angel was asleep before he knew it.

-----

[beginning] // [previous chapter] // [next chapter]

[spootiliousrps]

The Truth is Neigh [Ineffable Husbands]

Stranger: [Your choice whether it's established or not] It's tea time, angel. Why am I standing in an empty book shop? C

You: I'm terribly sorry, my dear. I got a bit caught up. I will be there shortly. A [unest]

Stranger: What got you out of the shop, angel? C

You: It was just as business matter. Nothing to worry about. A

Stranger: Business? Find a new book? C

You: [Delayed] Yes. Quite. A

Stranger: Alright.... shall I get tea started then? C

You: That would be very helpful. Yes. Thank you, dear. A

Stranger: I brought pastries as well from that little bakery you love. C Everything for tea will be ready when you get in. C It seems like you need to unwind. C

You: How very thoughtful. A

You: [Opposed to paragraphs?]

Stranger: ((Of course not! :) Would you mind starting?))

You: [Not at all]

You: It was another fifteen minutes before Aziraphale ushered through the door, arms empty of the book that had been mentioned. He appeared to be a bit distracted as he shut the door behind him, locking up and taking a moment to straightening his vest before stepping into the small sitting room. "I apologize for my tardiness, dear. I really did try to get away." He reassured. "Thank you for starting the tea." He added before he realized he forgot to take off his coat. "Oh." He mumbled in realization turning to head back to the coat rack.

Stranger: Crowley was lounging on one of the couches in clear view of the door, munching on a few of the biscuits that he had brought, tea kept warm with a miracle. He hadn't thought that the angel would be this long, and couldn't really imagine what had taken the angel away in the first place. Even if Aziraphale had said that he went for a new book he had seemed... incredibly distracted. And even if there would have been a book, Aziraphale did /not/ miss tea time. Especially if Crowley was going to be joining him for it.

Stranger: ((Sorry too soon))

Stranger: He looked up as the angel walked in, eyebrow raised as he watched the angel's distracted movements through the store. "Of course, Zira," he murmured. He had never quite seen the angel like this... unless he was hiding something, like with the antichrist. "Sit down, angel. You look like you need some tea."

You: Aziraphale hung up his coat before reappearing once more. "Yes... Quite." He agreed moving to sink down with a small soft smile that did quite meet his eyes. He reached for the mug waiting for him and brought it to his lips, giving a small contented hum. He seemed to breath in the steam, tension fading a bit from his shoulders before he offered another smile and reached for a pastry. "How has your day been, dear?" He asked politely.

Stranger: Crowley smirked just slightly as he watched the angel relax. It quickly moved away as he saw that the angel was still suffering a bit. "Well.. not much, as usual," he shrugged. "Just sort of... waiting for this. Took care of my plants a bit, yelled at them. Took in a horrible movie this afternoon just to pass the time. What about you, angel?" he asked curiously. He was certainly hoping that just a few small questions would have the angel opening up to him.

You: Aziraphale's smile faltered slightly at the question though he did his best to hide the fact. He gave a small shrug as he leaned back in his chair. "I opened early this morning. Had a cup of tea. Went to the cafe around the corner for breakfast." He offered, averting his gaze. "Managed to avoid some customers then was off to lunch and that business meeting I mentioned. Nothing too extravagant."

Stranger: "What was that business meeting about? Give me all the details, Angel. I love to hear you talk about your books," he offered up. Would this be enough? He needed the angel to be honest with him. He could see that whatever this was was completely eating him up inside. "Please, 'Ziraphale?" he asked, taking off his glasses to look at him properly, looking as pleadingly at him as possible.

You: Aziraphale glanced at him, pausing only briefly before forcing his gaze away, pain obvious. "I certainly wouldn't want to bore you." He mumbled softly. "Really its nothing to concern yourself with, dear." He offered before pushing the plate of pastries towards the Demon. "Though I'd be more than happy to tell you about this new tomb I've been studying." He offered a bit more brightly, obviously trying to change the subject.

Stranger: "You wouldn't be boring me, angel," he promised gently. He gazed over the selection, grabbing a random biscuit and popping it in his mouth. "I suppose that would be... alright... " he sighed, leaning back against the sofa, clearly a bit disappointed that the angel was being so secretive with him. Perhaps he had been wrong about their relationship after all.

You: Once again that pained expression passed over the Angel's features despite his attempts to hide it. "Well, it was recently discovered in the ruins in South America. I believe its some sort of historical record but I'm not sure of what. I've managed to translate most of the dates but the words are proving a bit tricky." He offered, obviously excited about it all.

Stranger: Crowley smiled softly, he supposed he could let the angel talk about this sort of thing for now. He would get down to the bottom of this soon. "That is very interesting, angel," he offered up. He leaned on his hand, propped up on the arm of the sofa, hanging onto the angels every word, but with each part of the story his heart squeezed in his chest as he felt the discomfort from the angel. "'Zira..." he said after a few moments, stopping the angel from talking too much. "What is going on with you, angel?"

You: "Hm?" He hummed curiously, arching a brow. "What do you mean, dear?" He asked, feigning misunderstanding. "If you're worried because I was late, I assure you it won't happen again. I am simply a bit tired; lost track of time. Its nothing to worry about." He attempted to reassure, giving his knee a soft pat. "Everything is quite in order."

Stranger: The demon shook his head forcefully, getting up and heading to the backroom, finding a bottle of wine and some glasses. "I know it's only tea time, but this is getting absolutely ridiculous. If I have to make you drink until you're bloody honest with me, I will angel," the demon said, eyes clearly showing his disappointment. "You should not be keeping things from me, Aziraphale," he said, the full name that he didn't use very often very pointedly enunciated.

You: The Angel's gaze followed him as he moved to collect the glasses and bottles, a frown replacing his smile fairly quickly. "Crowley...." He sighed softly before shamefully averting his eyes once more. He shifted a bit in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with being called out. "No reason to be so brash." He grumbled, sulking a bit before falling silent. After a moment, however, he gave another huff. "I really don't see why you must know about everything." He chided. "Perhaps it is simply too unimportant to be bothered with." He added.

Stranger: "If it was so unimportant you would have already told me," Crowley pointed out. "You tell me everything, Aziraphale. And I gladly listen to every word. And when something is eating you up like this, enough that I, a bloody /demon/ can feel it coming off of you... that's a serious problem." His voice was becoming softer, setting down the glasses and wine on the other end of the table. It had been more of an empty threat. "I suppose I don't need to know anything, but when I see you sufferent I want to fix it," the demon admitted, looking down at his feet as a small blush crept into his cheeks.

You: Aziraphale seemed to soften at that, reaching over to rest a comforting hand on the Demon's shoulder. "I know dear." He offered, giving what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "And you have no idea how much that means to me." He added. "But perhaps... Just this once. You'll allow me, my own secret. I don't have many anymore." He pointed out playfully. "I assure you, it is nothing that you should worry about." He offered, tiptoeing the line between the truth and a lie. He seemed as if he were going to say more when suddenly he tensed eyes shooting towards the phone only a moment before it began to ring. "Oh..." He whispered softly almost in disappointment. "I should get that. Pardon me." He managed as he stood.

Stranger: Crowley felt everything fall on top of him in that moment, his heart falling into the pit of his stomach. But he smiled quite gently in agreement, swallowing. "Right... of course, angel," he sighed softly. He moved back to the couch as the other went to answer the phone. He felt almost... betrayed. He had apparently quite underestimated their relationship. Though... he supposed that everyone wanted certain secrets. He didn't have many anymore either... but he rather liked that. Liked sharing everything with his angel... minus his feelings.

You: Aziraphale picked up the phone hesitantly before pressing it to his ear. "A.Z. Books, How may I help you?" He offered pleasantly. There was a moment of silence as someone spoke on the other end and the tension in the Angel's shoulders seemed to grow. "Y-yes, of course. One moment please." He replied before setting the receiver down. He glanced back at the Demon and offered a forced smile. "I'll be right back, dear." He offered before disappearing into the back room, obviously moving to continue the call there.

Stranger: Crowley watched the angel leave and he felt everything leave his body. He wasn't sure what was leaving but he felt.... limp and upset. He couldn't believe that the angel was in such pain and he wouldn't come to the demon for help. He moved to lay down on the couch, arm covering his face as he attempted to keep his emotions in check. As much as he wanted to leave... to just say fuck it, he couldn't leave his angel in distress. He would have even followed the other, but he knew that it would only make Zira more upset.

You: The sound of Aziraphale's muffled voice echoed through the bookshop, too low to be discerned. The only other sound was the muffled response of the caller on the other end of the receiver still left off the base on the table. For the most part Aziraphale's tone didn't shift not until there was a harsh and hurried. "No, sir!" Before a floor board creaked as if the Angel was peaking out to make sure Crowley hadn't heard. He cleared his throat before continuing in his harsh whisper.

Stranger: Crowley perked up a bit at that, but decided to let the angel have his way in Crowley completely staying out of it. If the angel complained well... that was on him, wasn't it? He shouldn't have told Crowley to leave him alone then. He thought about it for only a moment before sitting up, opening up the wine and pouring himself a very full glass, chugging the whole thing before pouring another.

You: It wasn't much longer until Aziraphale returned, looking even more tense than before. He by passed his chair and the forgotten tea. "I'm afraid I have to cut things short, my dear." He offered, words dripping with remorse. "I'm terribly sorry. You're more than welcome to stay. Have as much as you'd like." He added, another one of those fake smiles presenting itself. "Rain check perhaps? Next week maybe?" He offered, already pulling his coat on.

Stranger: Crowley gulped down his current glass of wine, grabbing the bottle again and frowning when he realized he had finished it... was it one or two of the same bottle that he had had? Who knew. He sat up to look at the angel, shaking his head. "Whatever, angel," he spat out. "Don't have to reschedule. Don't have to have tea ag-again. 'S fine. You.. you go off... be secretive and all that... don't care anymore. Thought... thought you... trusted me... cuz I... you're everything... for me... trust you with... my heart," he murmured, standing up, shaking his head. He swayed a bit and sighed, deciding to sober up. He had the worst taste in his mouth after, and immediately regretted everything he just said. "I... right. I've gotta go."

You: The pain on Aziraphale's face at the words was perhaps more than he would like to admit. "Crowley..." He mumbled softly. "Thats not... Don't do that." He pleaded with a shake of his head. He found himself unable to refrain from taking a step closer, just as the Demon began to sober. "No... Crowley, come now don't act so-" He began but his large grandfather clock began to chime and he glanced at it, brows furrowing. His gaze shifted between the time and the Demon obviously trying to make a decision. "I have to go." He finally sighed as he backed towards the door. "But I'll be back. Perhaps we can discuss it then?" He offered, gaze pleading. "I /do/ trust you Crowley... More than anyone in existence. I just need you to trust /me/ right now."

Stranger: ((Agh I'm terribly sorry but I should be going soon. is there any way at all that you'd want to continue this over email?))

You: [Absolutely! ***********@gmail.com]

Stranger: ((Amazing!! This angst is... god I haven't had good angst in forever, so thank you for that. I will send the log with my response! :) ))

You: [Lol! You're very welcome ^.^ I promise its going to get worse >:3 ]

Stranger: ((Oh god... I don't know if my heart will be able to handle it. But I'm gonna push through! Be on the watch for *****************************@gmail.com :) Have a good night/day!))