Chapter Text
More than a month had passed. Since the Armageddon-that-wasn't, that was. Or, well, Adam and his friends had taken to calling it the 'Armagedidn't' for short, and Aziraphale had to admit the appellation had stuck.
So, to re-iterate, it had been a month since the Armagedidn't had almost occured. And for all intents and purposes, not much of anything had changed. Aziraphale found himself with some new books for his collection, Crowley's car was freshly polished to even a degree the demon hadn't ever actually bothered with even with all his love for the trusty vehicle, and some people in some parts of the world found themselves very confused to be sat back at home, safe, when they could have sworn they were doing something important, but couldn't place what.
Besides that, no lingering effects. A gaggle of children were wiser than ever, but no one quantified these things on that scale outside of storybooks. The weather cycle proceeded as expected (no tornadoes, no eruptions, no landslides or earthquakes, or, or...) as did the news forecasts, and as represented by the bustle constantly moving outside his (miraculously recovered!) bookshop, society itself trucked on. No one knew.
Which, really, made it all the harder for those who did.
For those who had been there, who remembered, even, the peace in the wake of the day-of-reckon't was disquieting. Aziraphale himself had, the day succeeding the affair, found himself stepping out of Crowley's car one day after a lovely day out enjoying the world they'd saved (they hadn't done much of anything beside giving Adam more time, and even then that was more Crowley than him.... he'd repeatedly wondered how Crowley had done such a thing, stopping time, but the demon never felt a need to explain himself and it never seemed the right time to pry) all too ready to duck into his shop and while away the night reading, before an indescribable emotion washed over him and he was rushing rather abruptly back to the car, rushing the door open and then Crowley out and into his arms. His friend's confused sqwarks petered out quite quickly into comfortable silence, deaf to the world around them as he enjoyed an embrace he could have never gotten from the angel prior to the-day-before.
In that moment, they just stood and stood until all of it sank in a little better. And then stood some more, because Aziraphale really was enjoying the hug (touch-starved, one might say, if one wanted to be frowned at indignantly) and Crowley was either too indulging or kind to break it apart before he would.
It started to wash over him then, as a trickle soon to become a wave. The calamity that had loomed so large for so long was over... but was it, truly? Heaven and Hell both were not likely to take this humiliation and monumental change of plans lying down, even if their little trick - thanks kindly to one Agnes Nutter - had brought them seemingly indefinite time. Gabriel would want a while to get himself back into sorts, Beelzebub would retreat to lick their wounds, but both would want to get their own back, and were Aziraphale and Crowley prepared? It was doubtful they could reignite the endtimes, not without the antichrist, or the horsemen, or Satan himself, but that didn't necessarily mean they wouldn't ever try. Perhaps they would see the fallible Adam as a remaining avenue, someone to convince or manipulate into returning to his nature and purpose.
The thought frightened him, and so for a short while he kept vigil over the boy. Not in person, no, he couldn't keep an eye from London and he wasn't wont to stay in Tadfield, but it wasn't hard to sort-of attune his senses there, like focusing your ears on one place. It softened into the background, but if there was a disturbance, he was certain he would know about it. And while he absolutely couldn't stop an archangel or a lord of Hell on his own, he might at least be able to keep Adam from straying.
A silly thought. The boy was intelligent and had his head on right, he would know better.
But, well, if Aziraphale wasn't stressing unnecessarily, he wouldn't be Aziraphale. At least, Crowley had said as much once.
Crowley, as well, recieved some level of blessing. Not outright miracles, no, nothing literal, merely a general wish for good health and luck and such, the kind of things he'd once been ordered to give to those dying in hospitals in the war, the Great Fire, the Black Death, the Justinian plague, Noah's sodding arc-
No, no, it wouldn't do him any good to be reminded of that one. Breathe in, breathe out.
Never allowed to help, he hadn't been, and he'd been quite thoroughly scolded when he'd tried. The thought galled him and yet upset him at the same time, because thinking of his reprimands made him think of his superiors, which made him think of the other angels as a whole, which inevitably made him think of Heaven as a whole. Specifically, the fact that he was no longer welcome there.
At first, the thought was something of a victory chant. I'm free! They can't tell me what to do or what I can't do anymore! They can't talk down to me, follow me, make me feel the way they always have! I can fraternize with Crowley freely, love who I want and do what I want! I never liked Heaven anyway!- (as incredibly blasphemous as that was, though wasn't it all?) And now I get to spent the rest of my forseeable eternity on Earth with the person I care most dearly about! I never have to stand in those just-too-chilly plains of eternity again, never have to stare down my superiors as they pick and search for every minute thing to insult and degrade me for, never have to see my fellow principalities milling about with mundanities, never get to... (and this was where his brow furrowed with consternation) feel Her love again. Not directly, as it is in Heaven, all-surrounding and blanketing. Earth had a wash of the feeling, but not as intense. Not as...
And then bitterness overtook the triumph.
He'd not fallen, not yet anyway, but he may as well have. Heaven was off-limits, he was persona-non-grata, and though God never spoke to any angel anymore (he even doubted the Metatron had heard her in millenia despite it's claims), this was now a confirmed loss of even the option. Fallen or not, there was no chance in, well, Hell, that she would ever give him her grace ever again.
His family. His home. Her. All that he'd ever known... he was cut off, as viciously as the ground itself being ripped out from beneath him, and all he could do was struggle for purchase in the realization.
So no, he'd not fallen.
But yes, he might as well have.
He didn't voice these feelings to Crowley, couldn't even imagine doing so in good conscience. The demon was so obviously still bitter about his fall even this long of a time later, and he was reticent to mention something that might make him tetchy, such as these well-felt fears of falling and that he felt like he already kind of had. The isolation was overbearing, nearly as looming as Gabriel had been, and even sitting with Crowley and Anathema and Newt and all the rest in one big silly meetup to Talk hadn't filled that hole.
One hesitant, tentative reach out was all that he attempted even in full awareness of the risk, and the reward was the metaphysical equivelant of having your hand swatted away before even making contact, the ethereal rebound so harsh it snuffed out the candles he'd lined up. Ill with guilt for even having tried and feeling like he'd betrayed some very important personal principle, he'd put his elbows into scrubbing away the sigil (yes, he could have snapped it away, but then he would always know that it was there... ah, underneath) and thrown the candles straight into the rubbish, swearing to never let it cross his mind again.
Which of course meant it haunted him all that night night. And then the next, and the next, until they blended together.
Keeping his mind busy was the best way to avoid that pit. Sorting his books into increasingly contrived patterns (first name of author, surname, first letter of title, third letter, date published, from best to worst - in his personal opinion) and dining with Crowley were effective at first, though they always led him back to his spot in his comfy little reading chair, staring distantly ahead and wondering how badly he must have done as a being to have Gabriel, as Crowley put, look So Damn Eager to see him 'shut his stupid mouth' and 'die already'.
And then one day, that aforementioned day a mere month into this carefully carved-out peace, he'd felt the alarm bells that he'd dreaded ring in his head. And without a moment to spare, without even debating reaching out to warn Crowley, he summoned every atom of strength in his body and ripped himself out of reality.
Stumbling into the familiar surroundings of Tadfield, he took a moment to reorient himself, the feeling reminiscent of dropping back into Heaven - he normally didn't travel such distances so abruptly consensually. But, just as with that time, he had no time to waste. Forcing himself to recentre he made his way to the source of the feeling, and with mounting dread found his worst suspicions confirmed; the aura of an archangel drenched the area, with such intensity it bordered flagrant. With some irritation he knew he wouldn't be able to sense Adam among it, but then again, considering the sheer magnitude of the boy's prescence perhaps he couldn't have regardless.
It hardly mattered, he knew where to find him, and rounding the corner he caught sight of both of them.
Gabriel for his part was putting in no particular effort to reign in his celestial being, clearly using it as a front of intimidation in his anger, and it was more than a little overwhelming. The host bodies they were assigned looked human enough, and one had to put in a bit of effort to make them truly so and avoid the uncanny valley altogether (Crowley once had struggled with this, though Aziraphale couldn't tell if that was on purpose or if demons really were that difficult to stuff into a container without fundamentally altering it) but Gabriel had obviously given up in that endeavor, form shifting and changing in ways difficult to comprehend by the naked eye, the air aberrating around him. His true form was eking through his skin, and his body seemed undecided on how many eyes it needed that moment.
Aziraphale had to admit that he understood the necessity of that whole 'BE NOT AFRAID!' lark now.
Adam to his own benefit was not human, and thusly profoundly unbothered by this display. A good start?
Taking a (technically unnecessary) breath to stabilize himself for an encounter he'd not prepared for for at least another year or ten, Aziraphale stepped forward and made his presence known, catching the exact moment that both caught sight of him. Adam's bored exasperation melted into relief, while what was trying to be Gabriel's face tightened further in consternation.
"It's you!" The young antichrist exclaimed, eagerly accepting the excuse to go toward him and away from the infuriated archangel behind him. "Can you tell him to bugger off? I've already said I'm not gonna end the stupid world, he's being really annoying"
Gabriel audibly ground his teeth before he forced his lips into a transparently fake smile. "You're only postponing the inevitable, young man! You know that it is your fate to bring about the great end, that is your predetermined purpose on this planet, it is unchangeable, it is-!"
"Ineffable?" Aziraphale interrupted tartly, and Adam gave a quick huff of breath that was clearly a restrained laugh. Aziraphale didn't see why he would hold it in - Gabriel really needed someone to just laugh in his face sometimes.
"I'm. Not. Going. To. Do. It!" Adam said brightly, hopping up and down behind him. "My friends and I told you before, and none of us will change our minds. The bible always made angels out to be so majestic and beautiful, but you're just... stupid" he finished, squinting. Then, with a pause, he turned to look at Aziraphale and smiled lightly. "Some of you are okay though, I guess."
Aziraphale felt a small swell of appreciation at that - to be used as a positive example among angels was as incredibly rare as it was reassuring.
"Oh, yes. The traitor." Gabriel sneered, and finally his form stabilized enough to make out his expression clearly, hard-set eyes and curled lip as he stalked closer to them in two short paces. Aziraphale quickly brought his arm up, allowing Adam to step behind it, though the boy hardly bothered, meeting the other being's eyes. "Clearly, a fantastic example of the Host. Frankly I'm amazed you even have the nerve to show your face in front of me again, after how utterly you fucked everything up. But then you've always been that way. Impudent. Insolent."
Irritation long felt and long unexpressed burned in the angel's chest, longing to be let free. Turning a final glance back to an obviously confused Adam, he waved him off kindly. "I believe I've got this handled now, dear boy, why don't you run back to your friends? I can imagine they'd be far better company."
Shooting him a look of gratitude, the antichrist took heel and ran full pelt back to the line of houses below the hill, not stopping once to look back. It was done less out of fear and more out of children's well-established need to Not Be Anywhere Near when adults are having a grown-up argument.
An abrupt movement in Aziraphale's peripheral informed him that Gabriel had suddenly lurched like he was going to attempt pursuit, and he instinctively stepped into the middle, for a moment blindsided by his own boldness as he blocked his former boss. Expression curling into something dark and ugly, Gabriel's tensed shoulders and flared nostrils were Aziraphale's only warning as he was suddenly violently rushed, rough hands trying to shove him aside. Stumbling badly, his wings instinctively forced themselves out to balance him before he could fall. It wasn't a good idea in the slightest, not in the middle of a town with the sun still bright overhead, but it seemed a lesser evil in the moment than giving Gabriel confidence by falling.
Gabriel didn't seem too smug, but his scowl was gone too, and his focus on Adam's retreat had suddenly faded. Instead he was strangely fixated on Aziraphale's wings, and his march had turned into a slow circle around him. "Still white" he murmered. "Incredible." And somehow he made that lone word sound like an insult. "You've committed greater treason than the majority of the original fallen, and yet despite that you're not yet among their ranks! It's unbelievable."
That 'yet' rankled like expired milk. "No, I haven't. The almighty seemed to have had her fill of that sort of thing before Eden." He wished he could rebuke a little more confidently, but Gabriel had unfortunately hit at a sensitive spot there. He wondered if the archangel knew it.
Gabriel smirked. Oh, he definitely knew.
"You're awfully certain of that. Tell me, have you ever known what She wanted? Have you ever paid one thought to her intentions since the day of your creation? It hardly matters - you've disobeyed your every purpose regardless." An almost fatherly shake of the head. "And you've always been so contemptuous, cocky, arrogant-"
"Am I just to stand here while you prattle off synonyms at me?" Aziraphale snapped, pulling his wings closer but not thinking to dispel them just yet. Now he really was regretting not taking the time to alert Crowley - he never knew what to say in these situations, but he was certain Crowley had an entire essay of things he'd love to tell the fussy archangel. "Or is there a real point to this? Adam has left, shouldn't you as well?" And, he thought with a bit of snark, all of those words could be used to describe Gabriel just as well if not moreso. The man lacked self-awareness.
Gabriel continued as though he'd not spoken, which really wasn't out of the ordinary for their dynamic. "You can't think you'll escape what you did scot-free? Oh, I get it!" He laughed loudly "You thought this was all over, didn't you? That you'd settle into your sweet little ever-after with your dark boyfriend and this would all go away?" He began to encroach again, and despite himself Aziraphale stepped back, regretting it instantly as the motion immediately emboldened the other. "Oh no no no, this is far from over. We may be off-balance for a time, but Heaven's sights are still clearly set on the destruction of humanity, it's only a matter of time. And really, Aziraphale, you survived hellfire, do you truly believe you're as much an angel as you hope? On top of losing access to the Host... you're basically already there! It's funny, really, because even down below you won't be welcome after what you did!"
"I haven't fallen" Aziraphale said slowly, and then frowned at a twinge of doubt. Because- well, did he know? Would he know? Crowley had made it sound so obvious, but what if things had changed in the millenia since his fall? No angels had fallen in so long, there wasn't a point of reference. Not since She had still been willing to speak to them. Worse was Gabriel's look of... pity. Genuine seeming pity. There was contempt too, humour, but he really looked at him like he believed he was deluding himself. It made his skin crawl, and he had to force his voice to remain steady. "Look, I've had enough of this discussion and your open threats, I've rather had my fill of that these past few millenia, so if you could just go back to Heaven and-"
"Oh, yes, I'm done here!" Gabriel interrupted, that chipper tone still firmly in place. He seemed drastically more calm than earlier, which burned a little. It seemed like he might have won a little after all. "Believe me, I take no joy in speaking with you. Oh, but before I go!" And then he was moving, far too suddenly for Aziraphale to react, and in one motion had torn a feather from Aziraphale's wings.
The feeling was unpleasant, a quick jabbing like he'd been stabbed very quickly in the back by one of those fountain pens he enjoyed using so much. With a small yelp of alarm he spun, yanking his wings back into the other dimension immediately, but it was too late. Gabriel spun the stolen feather around in his fingers with consideration before grinning up at Aziraphale, satisfied. "Just thinking about what disgusting shade they might turn. Black, like your fellow traitor, or might they simply decay into nothingness? Though there may be something else, something that can really represent how rotten and disgusting you are inside"
All the words were petty, just spitting salt into the wound, much the way a human might shout a couple expletives over their shoulder after retreating from a fight they felt they hadn't won well enough, when the point of the discussion was less to prove a salient point and more to hurt the other party as much as possible.
"Actually" and Gabriel rose the feather up to the sun, staring into the ball of light like it was nothing (And it was nothing, angels weren't bothered by little things like light. Aziraphale could be, but he was weird) "This one seems a little greyer than I remember. But hey, don't worry sunshine, like you said - it's probably nothing!" He clapped his hands together, and a clap of lightning hit behind him. He stepped back towards it, lips withdrawn in his grin to show both full rows of teeth. Like a predator.
Oddly, Aziraphale found his eyes affixed to the fallen feather, aching to reach out and examine it, but glanced up to catch Gabriel's retreat.
"Oh, and Aziraphale?"
Gabriel's body was starting to glow now, but he couldn't resist just one last little jab.
"Word to the wise - you'll never see it coming. And I don't know if your boyfriend's angel fetish will apply once you've fallen. But who knows! Ta-ta!"
Standing on his own there, Aziraphale waited. For what he wasn't quite sure - perhaps expecting Gabriel to crash back down for another insult, or to reveal he was ready to wipe him out today after all. But no, nothing, even after an hour and then three, nothing. And he knew how ridiculous he must look stood there at the top of a hill staring off into nothing in particular, but he was lost in thought.
One problem with him that had haunted him for his entire existence was how his train of thought went - or that it was less a train of thought and more a boomerang in perpetual motion. Thoughts didn't go from A to B to C as he was aware they should - instead they started at A and then considered they should probably think about what came before A to really get the full picture - so then he had a little bulletpoint list of Æ and Ə and whatever other symbols could count as pre-alphabet, and then apon examining A with these factors in mind he found himself spiralling far past B or C, to consider that perhaps M might be a possibility, or N, and those too surely linked back to some inherent truth before A. No impossibility was crossed out, and he knew he lingered on the most unpleasant and pessimistic outcomes.
It was how Gabriel, how all of the angels had always gotten to him in the past. Make some scathing remark, and instead of the healthy approach of 'my boss has had a bad day -> he took it out on me -> this doesn't reflect on me' or even the more damaging 'my boss insulted me -> this means I'm wrong in some way -> i should fix that', he tended to spiral into essentialism to over-fix the problem. Any minor picking had over time started to feel like an attack on his very being, on his worth and right as an angel, and soon even a quick 'and fix up your tie, would you?' would pile onto the 'you're a bad angel, you can't even do something as simple and minute and present yourself properly, what else are you messing up?'
So yes, he was an overthinker. And now that stupid little feather on the ground had his mind in overdrive.
It was only when the first drops of rain began to fall that he startled back into reality, though it didn't at all slow the flow of his brain. Trying to shake it off before anyone happened across him (it was a, well, miracle it hadn't happened yet!) he leant down to grab the feather and tuck it into his coat pocket before he could talk himself out of it, pulled back at his still-recovering reserves and jumped back as best he could.
This time it took longer to come back into awareness, his already exhausted reserves now strained beyond belief, finding himself not at his bookshop but a little further ways down SoHo. Tutting, he scowled up at the rain (much heavier here than in Tadfield, sod's law he supposed) and allowed himself a quiet curse before making his way back to his shop as he did his best to keep his clothes dry. Yes, he could miracle them dry, but as thoroughly expressed to Crowley that would just never feel the same to him.
Long had his bookshop been charmed to be functionally noiseproof, the pervasive din of London forcing him to instate a bit of a low-key muffling charm far back in the early 1800s, when it'd become unbearable. What had served as a basis for a calming, peaceful atmosphere had now dissapointingly become a breeding ground for his anxious thoughts to spiral yet further out of control without any auditory distraction. In fact, with where his thoughts currently sat, his beloved bookshop now seemed to have an uncanny similarity to Heaven in it's silence. It'd always been kept as cluttered as still allowed it to be functional, purpose-built to avoid that exact comparison, even before he'd been willing to admit to himself that was the reason.
It was unbearable, right now.
With a snap of his fingers his gramophone was set to play, and with a slightly too-aggressive stomp of his heel his sodden-through shoes were completely dry and clean again. Those he didn't mind miracling, because even he could accept that it was nigh impossible to keep shoes in spotless condition, particularly if one intended to actually wear them.
Letting the soft and grainy tones soothe his paranoia-stricken mind slightly, he hung his coat and vest on the rack and locked the door before making off to the back room and slumping into his armchair, putting his head in his hands.
It seemed likely only moments had passed, though it was more realistically several minutes, that the door to the bookshop suddenly swung open again with a thud. Jolting in reignited alarm, fear swelling again with the immediate assumption that Gabriel really had come back with an armed force in tow, Aziraphale brought to himself what little ability he had left and rushed to the front- only to deflate entirely when he saw a familiar flame of red hair. "Crowley!" And then hesitated. "What- what are you doing here? And what on Earth is the matter?" The demon looked ruffled, face slightly wild with fright and entire body tense. Apon seeing the angel, he slumped like a marionette with its strings cut, the difference even more dramatic than Aziraphale's own relieved droop. With one hand he yanked his sunglasses up to his forehead, and Aziraphale was struck, as he often was, by how strikingly gold his serpentine eyes were. They were rather attractive- but he should stop dwelling on that train of thought immediately.
"Oh, me? What am I doing here?!" Crowley exclaimed, irate. "I was keeping an eye out for you, considering you went and bloody vanished in the middle of the morning without a word! That's the biggest miracle I've ever seen you use, I felt it from across town, what the heaven was I supposed to think?! I had no idea where you'd gone, so I've just been waiting here in hopes you'd turn back up!"
Guilt was sharp in Aziraphale's chest, and he thought back the several hours he spent at Tadfield, wholly unnecessary. And to leave his bookshop flooded with divine energy, with no note, to be gone for so long... even with no sign of a struggle, Crowley must have assumed the worst again. Oh dear. "I'm... I'm sorry, dear" he said gently, avoiding his eyes now. "I had an urgent matter to attend to all the way at Tadfield and I didn't think I could spare the time to travel there the normal way or even just to leave a message- but I should have. I didn't mean to give you such a fright." 'Again', his mind helpfully supplied.
Letting his glasses slip back down over his eyes, Crowley puffed out a short breath of air and gave an overdramatic shrug. "S'whatever. S'fine. Jus' glad you're okay, angel" as always, that nickname served to warm him a little, even when it was literally just an objective descriptor. "Though, y'know, m' curious now, what'd you need to do all the way in Tadfield that was so urgent?" Despite himself, Aziraphale's shoulders shot up to his ears, and Crowley's eyebrows did something similar, vanishing behind his hair for a moment. "Something bad, then?"
"Oh, no, nothing too bothersome. Just that- ah-" and all the words suddenly tumbled out "I know that our trick bought us some time, there's certainly no way they would launch a full frontal assault now, not on us at least, ah, that'd be a waste of resources, and Armageddon won't be possible without the Antichrist, and heaven knows he won't be partaking in that-" Crowley's lip twitched as it did when he was starting to become impatient but not enough to voice it, and he quickly sped up "-But I was just so worried, honestly, horribly so, feeling such a large spike of energy from Tadfield-" Crowley's jaw tensed, immediately recognizing where this was going. Aziraphale wrung his hands anxiously "And I'd though that children really can be so vulnerable, even all-powerful ones, so I just- jumped there. Luckily, it all worked out fine, no one harmed, no Armageddon on the horizon still, as ever!" And he laughed awkwardly to finish, still not meeting Crowley's eyes.
"So who was it?" Crowley asked plainly, expression still hard-set. "Gabriel, that prick? Or someone else."
Aziraphale huffed. "No, you're right on the money." Crowley groaned far too dramatically, leaning back even.
"Satan, not him. So then what- are you, uh, okay?" He circled around the angel, expression inquisitive and searching. "He didn't try anything, did he? You look fine, but- you just told him to fuck right off and he did?"
"Something like that" Aziraphale murmered, not finding it pertinent to mention that Gabriel had actually become quite physically aggressive, even if he hadn't hit or tried to smite him. "He spoke the entire time he was there, didn't let me get a word in edgewise. Was enthusiastic about reminding us that Heaven will not forget or forgive and that Armageddon is still in the works, just waylaid temporarily. Do believe me, I told him right where he could stick it."
While obviously happy to hear the last part, Crowley remained stuck in a harsh grimace at the news. "I thought we'd have more time before they got on our arses again... damn. We've got a lot less time to prepare for any repercussions than we thought. If Gabriel came solo it might've just been him talking a big show to repair his damaged pride, but it's still not great, and I'll bet my lot still feel exactly the same way. This could be seriously bad for us if they decide to start sending people to try other methods now that hellfire and holy water seem not to work on us."
"Yes, that is rather my concern" Aziraphale said quietly, flustered internally that he'd actually been more bothered by the idea of falling than the actual proven present threat. "Do you think they'd really- so soon-?"
"What, my lot? Oh, absolutely. Yours too, zero doubt now. Come on, we need some actual plans, some real good ideas, backups, failsafes, etcetera. It's been real swell just floating in this honeymoon phase with you, angel, but we're gonna need a good defense before we can relax again."
Aziraphale didn't say that he didn't think he'd managed to relax in the first place.
It was a couple of minutes of silent brainstorming then, Crowley's brow knit with consternation, before he visibly lit up and spun on his heel to stare at Aziraphale, wide-eyed. "Angel. Do you have any more holy water than that lot in the thermos you gave me?"
Aziraphale startled, surprised at the unexpected question. "I- don't believe so, no. Why would I? And... what for?"
"Come on, isn't it obvious by now? Insurance!" Crowley hissed, shuddering with frustration. "Because I am NOT risking my eternity on Earth again, and I am certainly ready to knock out a few of our opposition to get there. Also-" he relaxed slightly "It's an effective deterrant. If you're still so against destroying people who want to kill you. Though for you, we'll need fire, not water. Obviously."
Aziraphale's brow knit. "Crowley, holy water was difficult enough to procure the first time around, it'll be some work to get more, especially enough that you could both handle safely and that could deter a platoon of demons. And that, at least, can be located on Earth. Hellfire certainly cannot, where do you plan to find some?"
"Ohhhhh, don't worry about that bit, angel" Crowley gave a low rumbling laugh, one that Aziraphale hadn't often heard from him, and a rather embarassing flush spread across his face all the way to his ears. "Look, it'll be fine, I know some spots back from when I was gonna get some myself, you'll just have to be sneaky, not unheard of for you" a rougish grin made the angel's face bloom an even brighter red, though the demon didn't seem to notice. "Not saying we should use 'em all willy nilly, carry them around and chuck them at anyone who looks at us wrong. Just a good idea to have a proper last resort when stuff gets... dicey."
"Dicey" Aziraphale muttered, sour. He looked at Crowley with great hesitation. "You'd- so you'd certainly take the upmost caution with it, yes?"
"Oh for something's sake, how much reassurance do you need?" Crowley rolled his eyes behind his shades. "Look at my track record, I was careful last time! I'm no more eager to be utterly destroyed than you are. And speaking of, I hope you know the same goes for you. I definitely don't want 'bookshop fire 2, electric boogaloo' next time I poke my head in because you got peckish for some roasted marshmallows and the hellfire was what was closest."
The angel turned red with indignation. "I would NOT-"
But Crowley was smirking. "Doesn't feel so good to be accused, now does it?"
Acquiescing with a light sigh, Aziraphale paused as another concern lit up in his mind. "By the way, how do you even plan to store hellfire? It's not storeable in the way that water is, you can't put it in a container."
"That's where you're wrong" Crowley corrected, smiling as his eyes darted about the shop with purpose, moving in an almost hunting kind of way as he started to rifle through shelves and old dusty carboard boxes of miscellaneous somesuch, the contents of which Aziraphale couldn't even remember. Still, alarm shot through him at seeing his things messed with, and he ran after the other. "Come on, come on, I know you've got to have one, you're such a sentimental soul, I know you've collected all those trinkets over the years and you did love that one, it's gotta be in here somewheeeer-AHA!" and with a exclamation of triumph his arm rose, and in his grasp, what he'd taken.
It was a victorian hand lantern, with rusted faded brass and clouded glass sides, having been kept in the best condition it could be since its acquisition back in 1804. It had achieved quite regular use back then - Aziraphale had enjoyed the aesthetic of the whole thing - but for quite some time now had remained in storage, and now was set to see some use once more.
Aziraphale was a little miffed Crowley had just snatched it without asking, but at least he knew the demon would know to handle it gently as to not upset him. And, true to that, he dangled the lantern with care, even ensuring he wouldn't get any fingerprint markings on the already-ruined glass. "This" he said, with far too much dramatic flair, "Is perfect"
"Oh?"
"I'd just have to enchant it to stand a melting point hotter than Hades, and then, boom, we're there!" Crowley shrugged, handing it over. Peering in, Aziraphale was surprised to see that the formerly burned-down wick was now a fully new candle, and that it had went from the standard pale yellow to a deep red colour, the wick itself sputtering sparks with nothing to alight it. "I've made the candle itself impervious, but I'm gonna need time with the casing. I know how precious you get about preserving your things. Can even bring it back to its former shiny glory, if you'd like."
The warm feeling burrowed deeper into his chest. It was a lovely change from the cold rush he'd felt speaking to Gabriel earlier. "That would be wonderful, thank you. So you- would you like to keep hold of it for now?" He rose it, and Crowley took it back without protest. "Work your charms on it? In the meantime, I'll..." his mouth pulled down ever so slightly. "I'll work on acquiring some holy water for you. But I'm perhaps going to try and find a container a little more secure than... than a thermos. I know it worked well last time, and I know you'll be careful, but I can't stand the thought of something happening to you, either."
Was it a trick of the light, or was Crowley turning the same shade as his hair? He must be seeing things. "Sounds fine. And now you've said that, maybe I'll add a bit of intention to this. Make it so you can only get into it if you want to. That way you won't knock it off a shelf and take the whole street down with you. Not mocking you!" He rose a hand before Aziraphale could pout again. "I've done stupider, is my point, and it's nice to be safe."
Couldn't argue with that. "Yes, it is. Thank you."
"Alrighty, whelp, I'm gonna go work on that then, now that Sir Shittiness gave you his presence and us a kick in the ass to get moving on this. I'll be back..." Crowley waggled a hand, pulling a face. "Hmmm... gimme a week? And some space?"
"I'll need much the same. I'll see you then." Aziraphale nodded, and with a dramatic wave and far too much swish to his hips (Aziraphale suddenly found the floor deeply interesting) Crowley was gone, and the gramophone he'd long ignored since the conversation had started had pittered into grainy background noise.
Snapping his thermos to his hand, he frowned at it, and then opened the lid and tipped it over his palm. Naught but the smallest drop he'd ever seen slipped free, but as it tapped his hand he let out a large sigh of relief. That was proof enough, as unnecessary as it was. He'd known, but... it was lovely to have such a solid piece of evidence. He was not fallen. He was fine. Gabriel didn't know what he was talking about. So he could stop thinking about it now.
(He thought about it again 5 seconds later, and then the entire time he debated the flask's safety, and then late into that evening, and then beyond when the sun had long sank into the horizon and the moon flooded the sky. He thought about it when the world went to sleep, gazing up at the stars that Crowley had once created before he himself had been cast out, and wondered, silently, why he hadn't fallen)
(He deserved to. Didn't he?)