sauntered_downward | for salutosinedelectat

The questions of 'What If's, Aziraphale's an expert on those. But only in asking, rarely in answering, unless it keeps him from action. But it's true, he probably would have made exactly the same suggestion, if not entirely come up with a way of leaving without giving the demon a chance to stop him.

And it would have hurt. And he would have been so, so alone.

Part of him fears that's exactly what Crowley will do. That's what terrifies him, that they might think the same, do the same, forcing themselves into drastic acts of heroism to save the other. Because, he knows.

He knows.

His face, now softened, just looks somewhere between guilty and concerned. He brings his free hand to rest it on top of both of theirs, holding close, like making a promise.

He shakes his head, but keeps his gaze.

"I won't--" And he falters only for a second, afraid, not of making a promise, but of failing it.

"I won't leave you."

"Good, because----don't you dare."

Aziraphale can't promise he won't die. Just like Crowley can't promise he can save him. And when the angels start showing up, Aziraphale will be weak against them, the way that Crowley was against Hastur. They're stronger together, Crowley knows this, but he also knows that Aziraphale has a greater chance of escape right now. Right now, with the black mark across his chest and a discorporated Duke who probably thinks he won.

And here is Aziraphale, promising not to leave. Surely, Crowley can promise that, too. Promise that the moment they are in different rooms, he won't make himself disappear elsewhere. Promise that he'll stay, because they deserve to be together. Every scenario in his mind where he was fleeing, Aziraphale was always there. He doesn't want to do this alone, but more than that he doesn't want to be without Aziraphale.

There is just so much he wants to say right now.

He leans up, pressing his lips against Aziraphale's.

There are many things they should say. It's always the same, words worth saying that will never see the light of day. Looks and feelings and thoughts that they don't acknowledge, or they do, little promises and requests and they can only just trust the other to respond to in some way. And they don't, always. It's not always a yes. But Crowley definitely has Aziraphale beaten in that score, and the angel is well aware of his failings.

Too many words, and eternity is not enough. So he just closes his eyes and returns the kiss, in the quiet, in this room, just for them.

Please, please don't leave me alone. I don't have anything else. Don't want anything else. I love you.

There are moments that stay with Crowley forever. Oh, there are a lot of moments that he forgets about, temptations that aren't interesting, boring moments that he forgets over the years. And then there are moments---a surprising number with Aziraphale---that remain perfect and crystal clear in his memory forever.

This, he imagines, will be one of those moments. He is acutely aware of the silence in the room, the warm place where Aziraphale's hands are over his, and the way the angel kisses him back. They needed a moment, and it looks like the universe is granting them this.

He deepens the kiss and as he does he focuses inward, opening his soul up for Aziraphale. Offering it to him, to see and to feel. It's an intimate gesture, and perhaps too fast for the angel, but Crowley can't think of a better way to give him the words he can't say.

The angel, for what it's worth, forgets to breathe. The level of trust in feeling what Crowley's doing, the way he lets the angel read him and see him in a way only they could, it's almost enough to knock him off his feet then.

But he reaches. He reaches and sees him and lets himself be seen too. Like no one else has, like no one else could.

He lets go of Crowley's hand, just so he can reach up and cup his face, carefully, faintly, as if asking permission to hold it.

Finally, a moment. Some quiet. Finally, this.

Crowley feels Aziraphale reaching, and he lets out a short gasp against his mouth. He didn't know what this would feel like, but he didn't imagine this. He can feel Aziraphale in his mind, brushing into his soul, feel him open up, let him in. He can feel Aziraphale's goodness, feel him there inside of his heart.

He shares with Aziraphale his love. It isn't something he can just say, but he opens up his heart to share with him. See what I can't say, he thinks to him. He shares how it feels, how he feels closer and more supported by Aziraphale more than he's felt by anyone, including the Almighty herself. In many ways, Crowley reveres Aziraphale.

Years of watching Aziraphale, being by his side, and always feeling close to him. No one has ever understood Crowley the way that Aziraphale does. He shares this.

Oh, Crowley.

Aziraphale sees all of this. Hears all of this, feels all of this, and it's almost overwhelming. Almost, if only because they're facing it together, now, wordlessly but openly, and it's there. It's there, and they can't keep it down anymore.

It would be an utter lie to say that Aziraphale hadn't noticed. Of course he had. It was hanging between them, had been for decades or even more, the angel doing his best to act like he didn't see it. He couldn't. He shouldn't.

But here it is, and it's a trade. It has to be, he owes him that much. And he's afraid, still, but he tries, for all the things he couldn't say that night, those nights since there stopped being a reason.

For all the times he didn't take the risk.

He shows him, shows him how he feels. His appreciation. His fondness, his admiration. His guilt and regret from times gone past. He's sorry, so sorry, but all the times he walked away.

They say demons can't feel love. That's a lie, he thinks. Certainly here, it is, for they are not that different. So he shows him, he tries, from the purest, deepest part of him.

He loves him, and he has. And he's sorry he's taken this long.

Crowley has always known that Aziraphale liked him. He didn't even question it when he confronted him at the bandstand. It was only a matter of letting Aziraphale want to run away with him as much as he did. Of going Aziraphale's speed. Temptation, after all, isn't making someone do something they don't want to do---it's enticing someone to do something they want to already. And Crowley's never been a very good demon, but he is good at temptation. And he's always loved tempting Aziraphale into this or that over the centuries.

Of course, there was always the part of him, every time Aziraphale rejected him or ran away, that worried he was completely wrong. That Aziraphale liked him, but only in their professional friendship way, not nearly to the extent that Crowley did. Now he can feel it was just fear, a fear that Aziraphale regrets. He wants to tell him that it doesn't matter, that he doesn't care. They have this, now. He'd have easily waited another thousand years to meet Aziraphale here.

He shares the first time he felt something for the angel. That moment of fascination and awe in the garden, when he realized the angel was so different than the others. A connection then that only grew.

Much like everything else, he sees it. He remembers that day, out in the garden, worried about so many other things. Conversing with his adversary, not entirely too worried about airs then, but everything else.

Back then, he didn't see it or hear it. But, back then, Crowley noticed him. He did. And Aziraphale's heart flutters.

He pulls back from the kiss to look at him, a gentle look of surprised, subdued by all the simultaneous emotions. Those times he's quiet and frozen, because it's all too much.

Oh, thank you, he said then, responding to a joke he didn't understand,taking in the comfort of someone who would spend centuries giving him the kind of understanding and patience he didn't realize he never had.

"--all the way back then?" Said softly, quietly, incredulously.

"Impossible not to," Crowley responds. After all, Aziraphale had defied everything for the sake of a few humans that Crowley had tempted into knowing good and evil---that showed a bit about him. More than a bit, really. And he only grew more interesting every time they interacted. Every time Aziraphale defiantly tried to defend God's choices, but Crowley could tell he questioned them. They really were very alike----Aziraphale was just kinder than Crowley could ever be.

But, really, it has always been Aziraphale. No other creature in the universe has interested Crowley as much. No other person has listened or conversed or just understood as much. For a while, Crowley thought he knew that they had to have walls between them, but after a while, he came to realize they were just too alike. He cared too much for the angel and couldn't make it stop. Didn't want to, either.

"I always thought it was very obvious," Crowley says. "S'why I needed the holy water. In case someone saw me with you, realized I wasn't like the rest of the demons anymore."

He offers the angel a crooked smile. "You changed me."

There's a pang of something in Aziraphale's chest - no, not the darkened mark and what ever lays underneath it - but the stress, the excitement, the overwhelming emotions from...facing this. Of speaking about it. Hearing about it, of finally stepping over that fence he often looked over but never dared cross.

Of the times he stepped away, because he was angry. Upset. Scared. Of the time he came so close to giving into it- but he couldn't move that fast. He couldn't keep up.

But they're meeting here, now. And it's new yet familiar. Welcoming, wanted, but still terrifying.

He couldn't leave if he tried.

"Crowley..." The softness to his voice, the glistening to his eyes. None would suspect the miserable evening they've had. He's ready to forget, again. Forget that part. Piece together the steps towards this, take away all the rest.

"...I would have never wanted you to change." An earnest reply, a too fond smile.

He could stay like this forever.

I love you. You know that now. I love you.

And you love me.

With my whole heart.

It isn't much, he thinks. His heart is black and shriveled and he's been a demon for far longer than he was ever an angel. But whatever is left of his heart, it belongs to Aziraphale. He feels the angel's love and it warms him, warmer than anything he's felt before.

He could never leave. He could never leave him, not knowing this. Not knowing that Aziraphale loves him, that they love each other. They only have each other, and somehow that feels like enough. For the moment, he forgets the danger, he forgets what he feels like he is putting onto the angel by being around him and just experiences this.

And that smile. The fondness behind it, the earnestness. He leans up and kisses that smile.

The rest of Heaven and Hell can stuff it for all Crowley cares. Aziraphale loves him. It's all he needs in the whole universe.

And he’s ready to give him that. To show him, to not hide anymore, to not be so scared. He’s ready to be there and show him how he’s loved, appreciated, admired. He’s ready to stay.

The angel simply closes his eyes, in a calm, peaceful manner that he couldn’t be more thankful for in this moment in time. He reaches a hand around to cup it on the back of Crowley’s head, gently against his hair. The other rests on the demon’s shoulder.

As an angel, he can feel love. Pick it up, from people, from places. Wherever it
Iingers. Right now, he gives it back, shows it, covers the demon with it however he can.

If it’s all been for this, then it’s all been worth it.

It's like a blanket, covering Crowley completely. Insulating him with a warmth that he's never felt before. Not from anyone, not from Heaven when he was an angel, certainly not from Hell. It's completely new, and it belongs to Aziraphale.

To be loved like this----well, he must have done something right in his miserable life. How could he possibly show Aziraphale that he appreciates that? He isn't a being of love, but all that he has, he sends back to him, to share with him. Demons aren't supposed to love anything, so he doesn't even know if his love is any good, really, but it's all he has.

His other hand is still above the wound on Aziraphale's chest.

You should rest, he thinks to him. His concern floods over him, his need to care for the angel. How long he's wanted to watch over him, be there for him----sort of like a twisted little guardian demon, keeping him from getting into too much trouble.

And this is the worst trouble they've both ever been in.

One could say he already has been watching over the angel. And, history would confirm, they would be right.

He feels the concern. He accepts it, and, for how much the current buzzing of emotions and feelings and expectations and longing all swirls around in his head, he remembers how deeply tired he is. He remembers the pain on his chest - a physical one, that, which is oddly lingering. And he gently steps back to reality, but just barely, just enough to remember where they are, and how they got there.

He pulls back silently, lingering for a moment before he opens his eyes slightly. Theres a solemn expression in his face, perhaps thoughtful, perhaps distracted, but calm, for the most part. He’s still so close and he’s giving himself a chance to look at Crowley from this new point of view. To bring up a hand to cup his cheek and gently brush his thumb over it. To consider him, closer than they’ve ever been.

Maybe he’s not ready to say it, yet. But he’s better at showing it.

Crowley leans into Aziraphale's touch.

He's not an inexperienced person, not by any stretch of the imagination what with temptations being what they are, but he's never experienced intimacy like this. This sort of closeness, the touching of their souls or even just the touch of Aziraphale's hand on his cheek. Part of him, the part that will always be a demon, wants to run away from it because it is too good and feels too kind. Part of him wants to change it, to turn it into desire or something he knows better, something he's more comfortable with. He could easily give Aziraphale a temptation to remember, and that would be almost easier than just being close.

But he doesn't want to sully this. This is oddly pure, and the part of Crowley that was never very good at being a demon loves that.

They met here, like this. Finally. He's not going to take one step further, not when they've waited so long to go this far. They have the rest of their lives to see where this goes.

"You can sleep," he says. "I'll stay awake, make sure nothing happens."

Wherever this goes, they'll go together, this time. All he asks is that they hold their hands together and keep each other at a manageable pace.

When Crowley speaks, he finally glances up to meet his eyes again. Takes a second to think of the suggestion, then smiles warmly.

"Ah, I don't tend to sleep, my dear." In fact, he can't remember the last time he has. And he's not entirely sure that sleeping will necessarily soothe his mind or fix his vessel. And he's not sure if he could sleep, now, or if the quiet would simply bring him all the fears that are watching him from the sidelines in this tender moment.

"I do suppose we're due for some repose, however."

Repose. Crowley could do with a bit of repose. Crowley has also been known to sleep full decades away when the mood strikes him, but that's just his way of coping.

He nods to the table near the couch, where two bottles of wine have been left, a gift from the host of the flat. Not the best years or the most vintage of wines, but certainly better than the petrol station brands he'd picked up before.

"Glass of wine?" he offers. "I still have the sushi waiting for us, as well. Or we could order a takeaway."

Nothing that involves too much miracling. Not that he truly imagines they'll see through the neutrality of this place. All the same, he doesn't want to run the risk. Not when all they truly need is a break. Just for a little while.

After a second of confusion, a fond, slightly amused smile gently places itself in the angel's face, as he remembers when Crowley took care to pack away the sushi for him.

The little gestures. They add up. They've been adding up for years - the ones that are entirely centered around the angel's interests, without him ever having to say a word, most times.

"Wine sounds wonderful." He won't even kick a fuss about the quality of it. He doesn't care about that, not right now. He just wants the break, and to appreciate this...this place where they find themselves.

Crowley nods, and carefully releases the angel's hands to go to the wine. Part of him doesn't want to leave the angel's side----ever, actually. Basically to protect him forever after what's just happened and transpired between them.

But he heads over to grab two glasses from the small kitchen, as well as the wine opener. They need a break, he thinks. They need to think about nothing but the wine and the time they have now. Hastur can't take that from them, Heaven can't either. He'll spend as long as they have left together trying to protect that.

"We've got this place for as long as we want to have it," he tells the angel as he opens the bottle. "No rush to go anywhere."

Aziraphale takes that moment to finally take in his surroundings. The books, the TV. The V feeling of peace in these grounds. Not quite holy, no, or his companion would have been struggling. But a welcoming feeling none the less, specially right now.

An ache in his chest, a very real one, causes him to stop and look down again. The darkened, black and greying skin on the center of his chest, the way it splinters. The way he just can't quite seem to simply... Will it away. He frowns, looking at how much of it he can see without the aid of a mirror, then he sets to buttoning his shirt back up.

He looks around for his bow, finding it discarded where he had been lying. When he picks it up, he frowns some more, noticing the singe mark on the fabric.

Crowley pours two healthy glasses of wine and offers one to Aziraphale. He sees the singe on the bowtie. Normally, he'd just flick it away with a thought, but the idea of bringing in more miracles makes him nervous. They're so close to safe here.

"I can try to heal you again later," he promises. "I don't---I don't think it did much this time around. Not exactly built for healing, demons. I've done it before, but nothing like this."

It's almost embarrassing---no, it is embarrassing, admitting that he tried and failed to heal the angel. It would be easier to just say "Oh gosh Aziraphale, I did everything wrong today" and just be done with it. Couldn't protect him from Hastur, couldn't keep him from being injured, and he couldn't heal him afterwards.

"Bit of a lousy friend, I've been," he says, raising the glass in a toast.

The angel stops, quiet, looking at Crowley with confusion and a touch of awe. He doesn't raise his glass, no, specially as the words for the toast are a bit... Well, he doesn't quite enjoy them.

"Is that what you've done?" Said curiously, as he gently reaches and sets a hand on the demon's arm. No, lies are worth no toasts. He will not honor that self defeating sentiment.

What he will do is be thankful for all of Crowley's efforts. His strength. His patience.

"My dear boy, you've done it. You've brought us to safety. You've pulled us out of danger more than once tonight, you-" HE falters a little, with too many things to say. But he smiles, coy but warm.

"I can't thank you enough."

There was a time when Crowley would have recoiled against Aziraphale's thanks. When a thank-you from the angel would've been too dangerous to hear. After all, they were supposed to be enemies. He might've been commended for tempting the angel into the Arrangement, but never for saving him. Never for caring for him. No, the friendship that blossomed between them over the years was what earned them their banishment and now all the trouble that surrounded them.

Now---now, Crowley can't help but feel that he doesn't deserve Aziraphale's thanks. After all, it is his fault that they're here. Hastur hurt Aziraphale to get to Crowley. At the very least, a group of angels would've just killed them. Hastur had to make it hurt.

He takes a sip of his wine. "Should've done more," he says. "Will do, if he comes back for us."

Aziraphale’s smile falters a bit, but he tries to make it stay. For as much as he wants to tell the demon that none of that is true, he supposes they’re both much too tired to see things for what they are.

But they’ll get to it, eventually. He feels the need to let him know just how thankful he is. When they’re both ready and rested.

“ I believe”, pulling his hand away from Crowley’s arm and holding his glass with both. “we could both benefit without thinking about all of that for a little while.”

for salutosinedelectat

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