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Aziraphale stands alone in his bookshop and wonders what the last straw was.
6000 years of gluttony, greed and selfishness were bound to catch up with him one day. Aziraphale thinks back on millennials of misused miracles and misdeeds with gritted teeth. Perhaps if he'd sold some of his books, or did everything that heaven told him to, he wouldn't be standing here right now staring at the single, wilted white feather on his carpet.
Truthfully he'd thought this would never happen. He had strongly believed his good heart and (almost) unskewed moral compass meant that he would always be an angel. Angel is a part of Aziraphale's identity, it's the only thing he's ever known, and without it who is he?
The process of falling hadn't come on suddenly, of course. Aziraphale knows with certainty when he had realised something was terribly, terribly wrong.
In that bath of holy water in hell, Aziraphale had felt a tingle, a burn , on the skin of his arm. It wasn't painful but it was hot enough that Aziraphale had smelt something like rotten demon flesh. He had swallowed, and ignored it, but he had never truly forgotten it. When he was submerged in holy water he had been too focused on saving himself and Crowley to dwell on it, but afterwards... afterwards it haunted him. He swears he saw a light burn on the inside of his arm for weeks after that day.
If he were another angel he might've thought that burn was just his guilt - and the mind inside of his human shell - playing tricks on him. But Aziraphale has always prided himself on his good sense, and the other explanation (that he was falling ) was far more reasonable. It made sense, of course it did.
And for centuries Aziraphale had thought less and less of God. He'd felt Her presence dwindling and dwindling over time and he hadn't even minded it. Of course this would happen. Objectively, Aziraphale shouldn't be so surprised. And yet... he had thought himself invincible. Aziraphale had honestly considered himself one of God's favourites. Perhaps that was another of his sins.
Pride .
Aziraphale kneels down and picks up the feather carefully between his index finger and thumb. It doesn't look the way it should. It's curled at the top and the bottom, and withering, like an unwatered plant. It should be a bright, dazzling white, but it's faded to a murky grey.
Aziraphale stretches out his wings and they don't feel any different, nor do they feel any lighter. They feel strong and good, and yet Aziraphale knows it won't last for much longer. He stares at the feather in his hand until tears begin to prick behind his eyes.
It hurts to look at the feather. Aziraphale quickly blinks his tears away, his throat trembling as he does so. The question still remains: once he's no longer an angel, who will he be?
At the worst time possible, the door tinkles open, and Crowley's pleasant drawl fills the bookshop.
"Mornin', angel." He says.
Startled, Aziraphale shoves the feather quickly into his pocket and forces a smile onto his face. He turns to his desk, away from Crowley's gaze, and pretends to shuffle a few papers around.
"Crowley." Aziraphale greets. There's a slight shake in his voice. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Not much is going on now that we've prevented humanity's demise." Crowley says. Aziraphale can hear him wandering around the shop and running his fingers along the book spines, a habit of his that Aziraphale has always disliked, but once more Aziraphale doesn't comment on it. "Thought I'd pop by for a cuppa."
Crowley will notice if he keeps behaving like this, Aziraphale thinks, trying to force his smile into his eyes. He has to calm down.
"Well, my shop is always open to you, my dear." Aziraphale says cheerily. He busies himself with taking two mugs ( their mugs, one black one white) from a cupboard, and putting the kettle on. The familiar rumble of it soothes him, somewhat. But not enough. His torn feather is heavy in his pocket.
"Can't say the same for the rest of London. I've never seen a human in this place." Crowley teases. "You've never sold a single book, have you? Some bookshop this is."
Another sin, Aziraphale thinks. He has kept knowledge and beauty to himself, in some selfish attempt to keep what he loves his. Angels were never meant to own anything. Their purpose is to give. And yet throughout the centuries Aziraphale has collected books and foods and kept them all for himself. His, and his alone.
"You don't happen to have the kama sutra in here somewhere, do you?" Crowley asks.
Usually, Aziraphale's eyes would twinkle and he'd scold Crowley. Usually it would be funny and it would be inappropriate and Aziraphale would say something - anything - but today he hardly even hears the comment. He pours two mugs of tea out of habit and feels completely disconnected from himself and from Crowley. It's like he's hearing Crowley from underwater, thick and far away.
Aziraphale turns and is startled when he finds the demon is standing right in front of him - he's so close that his chest almost brushes Aziraphale's. Hot tea splashes against Aziraphale's suit when he jumps in surprise. Crowley has removed his sunglasses and he stares down at Aziraphale with a sharp, unyielding gaze, as if trying to see right through him.
"What's wrong with you, angel?" He asks. Crowley is frowning.
"Whatever do you mean, my dear?" Aziraphale asks.
"Hmph. You know what I mean." Crowley's eyes flicker over his frame. It's times like this, when Crowley's eyes grow an angry yellow, that Aziraphale sees the snake in him. "There's something off about you today. Has something happened? A persistent customer, maybe?"
If only, Aziraphale thinks. He widens his smile, softens his face, like an actor playing a part.
"Oh, you caught me. One of my favourite poetry collections was sold. She was too convincing." Aziraphale sighs. "But it doesn't matter. A glass of wine and a piece of cake and I'll be right as rain."
For a moment Aziraphale thinks Crowley doesn't believe him. But then he nods, satisfied, and takes his mug of tea from Aziraphale's hands. Aziraphale flinches when he feels Crowley's cold fingers brush against his own. Another one of his sins, Aziraphale thinks miserably. Lust. The list is long. No wonder he's falling.
"Fancy going out this afternoon?" Crowley asks. "There's a new restaurant that's just opened downtown. Thought it seemed like your kind of thing."
Aziraphale sighs with relief when he realises Crowley isn't going to press the issue. But the relief is shortlived. Crowley is observant and clever. It won't be long before he knows exactly what's going on with Aziraphale, and what then?
"That sounds lovely, Crowley." Aziraphale says, with as much enthusiasm as he can muster. Crowley looks satisfied, and the smile he sends Aziraphale is pleased.
Aziraphale realises something else. What will become of the two of them, when they're no longer angel and demon? It's all they've ever been. What will change between them? Will their bond even survive it? Aziraphale can hardly look at Crowley.
He loves him, of course he does. Crowley is his best friend. But he's a demon, and Aziraphale has never, ever wanted to be like him.
He'd rather not exist at all.
*
Aziraphale blinks at himself in the mirror.
For a moment his eyes had flashed black. They had been dark and evil and they had not been his own. He blinks and sees it again, that darkness replacing his eyes. It stings, as if his human eyes are forcing themselves to adapt to this new demonic shell. He blinks once more, and the flash of black is gone now, but Aziraphale knows it will come back soon.
And then it will be permanent.
He shakes his head, willing himself to ignore it. But Aziraphale keeps staring at his own gentle, kind eyes and he desperately despises what he is becoming. He despises himself. The darkness of his eyes personifies his sin. His new eyes... they're a physical representation of his soul turning black.
Aziraphale stretches out his wings, and when he stares at them in the mirror he notices gaps in them. Feathers have begun to fall steadily since the first one. Aziraphale doesn't know what to do with the fallen feathers, so he keeps them locked inside of a safe box.
The more feathers that fall, the more his shoulders burn and sting. It's like the feathers are being forcefully ripped from his skin. The first had fallen easily, like shedding hair, but now they're being pulled from his spine. Ripped from the very core of his angelic being.
He pulls down his shirt and looks over his shoulder. He has been bleeding and burning for weeks. Aziraphale knows these are permanent wounds. They won't heal or scar. He has seen the same burns on Crowley's shoulders only a few times in the 6000 years Crowley has been a demon, but he knows these wounds will always hurt. They will always be a reminder of his crimes and trespasses.
How does Crowley bear it?
Aziraphale runs his fingers along the burns and his fingers come back covered in blood. It's so dark it's almost black. Startled, he miracles the blood away quickly and pulls his shirt and cream suit jacket back onto his shoulders, his wings disappearing from view. No more, he thinks, please. It's a prayer to God, or a pleading to hell - stop this, please, please.
For a long time Aziraphale looks at himself in the mirror. This is a human form, it's not really him , but somewhere along the way this form had become Aziraphale. It had always stayed steady and constant, no matter what happened around him. But even that - his one consistent form - is changing. Aziraphale knows what comes next. Dark veins on his neck. They'd be temporary, but nevertheless. And perhaps there would be claws, sharp teeth, or something else demonic. Something else that wasn't angelic. What will his animal form be? How much more will he have to change?
No more, Aziraphale pleads. He realises he's said it aloud, and closes his mouth abruptly.
Once, if he'd spoken to God, She would've spoken back. Even when She didn't, Aziraphale had felt that the silence was companionable, as if she was standing beside him. She didn't need to say a word for Aziraphale to know She was there. But now when Aziraphale searches for Her now, there's nothing.
It's as if there is a void, or a black hole, where She used to be. There has been for a while, Aziraphale realises.
Eventually he stops torturing himself by staring at the mirror and goes to the back of his shop. In the shadows, Aziraphale does what he does best: he fits things into neat categories. Right now it's his books - he's sorting his inventory. But later it might be other things. Angel vs demon. Us vs them. Categories that, he realises, will soon no longer apply.
Aziraphale feels a little more like himself as he carries a pile of books to the front of his shop. He almost doesn't flinch when he realises Crowley is sitting in his armchair with his legs crossed.
"Tell me." Crowley says immediately. Aziraphale raises an eyebrow at the demon questionably, and begins to slot his books onto the shelves.
"Tell you what, dear?"
"Tell me what the hell is going on with you."
"I don't know what you mean." Aziraphale says lightly. Not today, Crowley, he thinks, please? "You worry too much, you know."
"Screw that." Crowley says. He's insistent, Aziraphale realises, and a wave of dread makes his hand freeze for a second. He regains his senses, and slots another book onto the shelf, but the feeling of dread remains. "I'm going to ask you again, and I want you to tell me honestly: what is going on with you?"
Aziraphale shakes his head.
"Now really, Crowley I told you- "
"Aziraphale." Crowley says firmly. "You're avoiding me. You haven't eaten in weeks. There's dust on your bookshelves , for Satan's sake. Something is wrong, and I'm not leaving until you tell me what it is."
"You're being ridiculous."
"I'm right, though, aren't I?"
"Come, now, Crowley, there's nothing the matter...Look, I might be a little worn down. There's been a lot of excitement lately, you know. The apocalypse is a rather taxing event, isn't it?" Aziraphale lets out a weak chuckle. "But it's really not as dramatic as you're implying."
"Nah, you're not shrugging this off. No way. Now, tell me before I force it out of you..."
"There's nothing to tell. " Aziraphale insists stubbornly. "Look, I'm really rather tired. Perhaps you could come back another day. The books-"
"Damn your bloody books." Crowley hisses. He's suddenly right beside Aziraphale, his eyes glinting dangerously, and Aziraphale feels a thrill of fear and excitement. Typical, he thinks. There he goes again, a falling angel, with demonic feelings like these. "Spit it out before I make you."
"Can't you just drop it?" Aziraphale sighs. His eyes meet Crowley's for a moment before he has to look away. Guilt drips inside of him, thick and black. "I'm really not in the mood."
"I don't care." Crowley says. He takes a deep breath, and his voice has softened when he speaks again. "Look, Aziraphale, is it something I've done? If I've somehow upset you, I-"
"Oh, Crowley." Aziraphale softens too. Crowley has always been sweet and thoughtful like this. Aziraphale forgets himself for a moment. "No, no, of course not. You're fine- you're perfect , it's just-"
"Just what?" Crowley asks. There's a hopeful note in his voice. Clearly he's expecting Aziraphale to finally confess what's bothering him. But Aziraphale won't budge, not this time. A flare of irritation makes him speak.
"Won't you just mind your own business, for once in your demonic life?" Aziraphale blurts out. He immediately regrets it, but there's no going back now.
Crowley makes a furious, incomprehensible sound. The remaining books in Aziraphale's arms scatter when Crowley holds him against the bookshelf by his throat. His grip is tight, and his eyes are hard, and Aziraphale feels another thrill of excitement. The angry and warm feeling fills the falling angel.
As much as Aziraphale tries to convince himself this is a new, demonic feeling, he knows fine well it isn't. Crowley's occasional harshness has always secretly pleased Aziraphale. Aroused him, even. Once a sinner, always a sinner, Aziraphale thinks bitterly.
"Do not test me, angel." Crowley hisses through his teeth. "If you don't tell me what's wrong, I swear I'll-"
"Let go of me." Aziraphale says. His voice his hard, and his eyes flash, and Crowley's face changes. Aziraphale's stomach drops. What if- what if he saw-
"Your eyes." Crowley says, with wide eyes. No, Aziraphale thinks desperately, no. He thought he'd have more time before Crowley realised. "What's wrong with your eyes, Aziraphale?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Aziraphale says. He knows the colour has drained from his face.
"They- ngk, they were-" Crowley lowers his voice. He looks around the bookshop as if someone might be listening to them. "Aziraphale, they were black ."
"Whatever do you mean?" Aziraphale smiles thinly at Crowley, "That's preposterous. It must've been a trick of the light."
"No, no I don't think so."
"Now really, my dear, why would my eyes be-" Aziraphale can't even say it. "Like that?"
Crowley stares at him for a moment in silence.
"Show me your wings." He eventually says.
"What?"
"Show me." Crowley punctuates every word. "Your wings."
"Why on earth-"
"Show me." Crowley's voice thunders through the shop, and books fall from the shelves, bouncing against the carpet. He's clearly tired of Aziraphale's lies. "Why not? I've seen them hundreds of times before. Recently, in fact.
"I'm not in the mood for conspiracies, Crowley." Aziraphale says. He flicks his hand, and Crowley is forced away from him. Aziraphale has pushed him a little too far - Crowley's back smashes against the bookshelf opposite him. "Oh, apologies."
Crowley stands and brushes down his jacket. He sends Aziraphale an unreadable look, all of the fury drained from his face now.
"There's something different about you, lately." He says quietly. His tone is in sharp contrast to the loud, booming voice he'd used before. "Something... demonic."
Aziraphale swallows.
"What are you implying?" He asks. His eyes flash again dangerously, but Aziraphale doesn't notice.
"Are you-" Crowley's voice falters uncertainly. The change from angry to mellow has come so suddenly, but then, Crowley has never been able to hold his fury for very long. "Are you, ngk, are you falling, Aziraphale?"
Aziraphale narrows his eyebrows.
"Falling?" He asks. He knows how he must look right now. Angry, stubborn, cruel.
"You know exactly what I mean." Crowley says. "Look, I know what it's like. I remember everything. And you- you look like I did, when-"
"How dare you?" Aziraphale asks. He steps towards Crowley with his eyes blazing.
"Angel, it's-"
"How dare you imply that I might be- that I could be-" Aziraphale spits out the next words. "A demon ?"
Crowley's eyes flicker with hurt.
"I am an angel, Crowley, and I always will be. I will never be one of you. I will never be like you." Aziraphale insists. He feels his tongue burn with the lies, and he knows each of his words are like a sharp sword plunging into Crowley's heart, but something stops him from closing his mouth. He keeps talking. Perhaps it's his own self hatred, speaking like this.
"To imply I could become a demon, that I could fall from Grace... How dare you?" Aziraphale has become a monster, a demon - crueler than Crowley could ever be. "I could never be like you. I'd rather-"
Crowley smiles sadly.
"You'd rather what, angel?" He asks. "Die?"
Aziraphale falters. His anger drains away, and regret fills him. Looking into Crowley's sad, pained face is unbearable. He looks away, and runs a hand over his face.
"You'd rather not exist than be like me, hm?" Crowley continues. He steps away from Aziraphale, pain and repulsion clear in his face. "But I thought- I thought you knew me."
"Crowley-"
"I didn't realise you despised me still." Crowley says. "After everything, you still..."
Crowley's words fade away, as if he can't even bring himself to say any more. Aziraphale realises now that he is a demon. He always has been. It should be Crowley, with angel wings. Had he always been this cruel? He thinks of the times he's hurt Crowley over the centuries and realises yes, he always has been.
"Crowley, I-"
"You know, when I fell, it was the worst pain I ever experienced. I was so lonely, and so broken, and the one thing, the one thing that could've helped me was having someone there." Crowley says. "I just needed one person there who cared about me. That's all. I'm sorry for wanting to give that to you."
Aziraphale reaches out his hand, but Crowley shakes his head and backs away again. As if Aziraphale is going to hurt him. I could never, Aziraphale thinks, as if he hasn't already done an eternity's worth of damage.
"Enjoy hell, angel." Crowley says, and disappears.
The silence the demon leaves behind is deep and empty. Aziraphale chokes on a sob and falls to his knees, surrounded by books that had fallen from the shelves during his fight with Crowley. He is desperate, broken.
And Crowley was right. All he had wanted was a hand on his wounded shoulders, a comforting embrace, someone to tell him it would be alright. That being a demon wouldn't change who he was inside.
"Why?" Aziraphale asks God. He speaks to Her angrily, with audible bitterness and even hatred, but he isn't even ashamed of it. A true demon, Aziraphale thinks to himself. "Why are you doing this to me?"
God speaks to him.
It was always meant to be.
Why did it take so long, then?
I didn't want to let go of you.
Then why now?
It's time. She says. It's time for me to set you free.
*
Aziraphale's hands tremble.
He's afraid they will shake so much that he'll spill holy water all over the carpet. The tiny vial contains a clear liquid that could almost be mistaken for normal water, but that's a dangerous association - this is hardly something to be played around with. The substance is dangerous. Murderous, even. In the wrong hands-
Aziraphale swallows. He feels consumed with guilt as he stares at the holy water, because it reminds him of Crowley. He had said such cruel things to the demon, and now he's alone, fixated on a substance that could kill both of them in an instant.
He just wants to see. He just wants to see if this is real, he just wants to find out for himself whether he's stuck in a miserable, unending nightmare. There are two conclusions to this moment.
The first is that this is a sick dream, perhaps a particularly cruel punishment from heaven, and when he touches the holy water he'll awake and he'll get himself on the right track and be the angel he was meant to be.
The second is that he'll touch the holy water and vanish from existence.
The second terrifies him, of course, but it's the most likely scenario. At this point, there's nothing really left for him in this existence. He's lost his best friend. He's lost his sense of identity. The world he knew doesn't even exist anymore.
Aziraphale takes a deep breath. He can do it, he can. Maybe nothing will happen and he'll realise it was all just a fantasy constructed in his mind.
He is about to try it, but he's interrupted.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Crowley says. His voice is... dangerous. Aziraphale has never heard him speak like this before.
Crowley takes advantage of Aziraphale's surprise and hits Aziraphale's hand, sending the vial of holy water flying from his grip and onto the carpet. It soaks into it, spreading towards them, and Crowley hisses and jumps away from it. He drags Aziraphale with him.
"Have you got a bloody death wish?" Crowley asks. "What in devil's name were you thinking, Aziraphale?"
Aziraphale swallows and stares at his damp carpet.
"Crowley?" He asks quietly. "You're- you're here."
"Well someone has to stop you from eradicating yourself from existence."
"But I thought-" Aziraphale looks up at him, "I thought I'd never see you again."
Crowley's face softens slightly. He pulls his sunglasses off, and looks back at Aziraphale.
"Don't be ridiculous." Is all he says.
How could Crowley stay beside someone as cruel and as vicious as Aziraphale? How could Crowley even want to know him now? Crowley had always loved an angel's company. Aziraphale isn't what he wants, anymore. Or at least, he shouldn't be.
"Why did you stop me?"
"Are you seriously asking that?" Crowley asks. "Are you seriously asking me why I'd stop my best friend from- from-"
"You should've let me do it." Aziraphale says.
"Why the hell would I do that?"
"I can't be a demon, Crowley." Aziraphale says. It's the first time he's admitted what's happening to him outloud. Crowley already knows, of course, but it does take a weight from his shoulders to drop his pretence. "I can't. "
"You're halfway there." Crowley says, but his tone is gentle. "It'd be easier if you accepted it, angel. Trust me."
"Why are you here?" Aziraphale asks. He feels like he's talking in circles. "I'm not even me anymore. And I said such horrible, such cruel things to you, I don't deserve your help. You should've let me die."
Aziraphale expects more outrage from Crowley, so he's surprised when the demon harshly cups his cheeks. Like this, Aziraphale can't look away from Crowley's face. He's forced to look into Crowley's pretty, demonic eyes, and he has nowhere to hide.
"Listen to me." Crowley says. He sounds desperate. "You're still you. Just because you're becoming a demon doesn't mean you won't still love desserts, or that you won't run your bookshop, or that you'll suddenly stop being my best friend. It doesn't work like that."
"Doesn't it?"
"Do you think because I'm a demon I have no feelings, no hobbies, no sense of self?" Crowley asks. The question is both logical and- insecure, Aziraphale realises. Of course Crowley is still hurt. What Aziraphale said to him was terrible. "Do you?"
"Of course not, Crowley-"
"Then why would it be different for you?" Crowley asks. "Look, the only thing that separates me from you is our job roles, okay? Demon, angel, human- it doesn't fucking matter. It's all just a farce. And I don't know why you fell, maybe it was too many crepes or something-"
Aziraphale cracks a smile, at that.
"But who gives a damn? You're not any different to me now. You're just you. I see you the same as I did last century, and the century before, on and on and on." Crowley grips his cheeks tighter. So tight, it's painful. "So don't you dare think about leaving me again."
He presses his forehead against Aziraphale's. His skin is warm... human.
"Please." Crowley whispers. "Don't go."
Aziraphale takes a shuddering breath.
"But this is who I've always been-" Aziraphale says. "Angelic. Good. Without my duty, what even am I?"
"You've always been more than that."
"Being an angel was supposed to be my purpose." Aziraphale says desperately. "It's what I've always lived for, Crowley."
"Perhaps now you can live freely, without any guilt." Crowley says. "Come on, angel. We both know you've never been particularly angelic."
It's true enough, Aziraphale thinks. He smiles slightly, tears filling his eyes. This time he doesn't blink them away.
"I'm scared." Aziraphale's voice breaks. Tears wet his cheeks. "Crowley, I'm scared."
Crowley pulls him into a fierce hug. Aziraphale's face is buried in his chest, and now that there isn't angel and demon between them Aziraphale can grip him back. He sobs into Crowley's chest, all of his resolve breaking at once.
"It's alright, angel." Crowley murmurs into his hair. "I've got you."
He does, Aziraphale thinks, he really does.
*
"Do I really have to show you?" Aziraphale asks self consciously.
"It'll help." Crowley insists. He sits cross legged in Aziraphale's armchair, and he looks up at him with the same eyes, the same smile, that he had when Aziraphale was an angel. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
"Very funny, Crowley." Aziraphale rolls his eyes. He feels more like himself, lately. No doubt sharing his fears and dark thoughts with Crowley has lifted some of the burden from him.
With trembling hands Aziraphale takes off his suit jacket. His fingers fumble with his shirt buttons, and he curses under his breath as he struggles to do such a simple task. Crowley stands.
"Would it be easier if I did it?" Crowley asks.
"Oh-" Aziraphale swallows. "Yes, please, dear."
Crowley steps closer to him. His hands brush over Aziraphale's chest, and then he unbuttons his shirt and peels it away from his shoulders. He gives Aziraphale a warm smile, but Aziraphale can tell he's nervous. He knows Crowley too well. There's a faint redness to his cheeks, a shy tilt to his smile, that exposes his nerves.
Crowley steps behind Aziraphale and surveys his shoulders.
"Ouch." He says. Aziraphale chuckles.
"Is that all you have to say?"
"I've seen a lot of fallen angels in my day, angel, but this is-" Crowley pauses. "This looks brutal. It must've been painful. You really fought these wings, huh?"
It had hurt. It had almost been unbearable. When the bottom of his wings, small and dark, had begun to sprout, Aziraphale had wondered whether he'd be able to bear it.
"It wasn't so bad." Aziraphale says weakly. "And what do you mean, you've seen lots of fallen angels?"
"Well, since I've been around for so long, I get sent to train them sometimes. A lot of the older demons do. Most of the fallen ones are torn up when they get into hell. Ashamed, afraid, that sort of thing." Crowley says. Aziraphale can still feel the demon's gaze burning against his skin. "We fix 'em up, show 'em the ropes."
"Oh." Aziraphale says. "That's... sweet."
Crowley lets out a huff of laughter.
"Sweet, huh?" He murmurs. "You know it's always bothered me how painful it is for angels to fall. Isn't becoming a demon not punishment enough?"
"You have burns like these, don't you?" Aziraphale asks curiously. "How do you bear them?"
"Oh, that's easy. You just have to accept that this is who you are now. A demon." Crowley says. "Didn't take long for me to adjust to it. Got used to it quickly, but then, that's just me. After a while I even started to forget I was a demon, until I got angry calls from hell and remembered."
"Or when I reminded you."
"Yeah." Crowley says, a note of sadness in his voice. Aziraphale still doesn't turn around. It's easier to talk to Crowley when he doesn't have to look into his eyes. "Never let me forget, did you?"
"I'm sorry." Aziraphale says sincerely. "I'm so sorry, Crowley. Not just for what I said before, but all of it. My guilt for my sins- I've always taken it out on you, ever since we first met in Eden. But we've always been the same, haven't we?"
"That's what I've been trying to tell you all along, angel." Crowley says. He's began to smile now, Aziraphale thinks. He can hear Crowley smiling.
"I think I can get used to this. Being a demon, I mean. I think I can bear it if you're with me." Aziraphale says meaningfully. Crowley's silence speaks more than words could. He can still feel Crowley's eyes. They're fixed on the back of his shoulders. "It's ugly, isn't it?"
There's another silence, a pause in time, and then a shuffling noise as Crowley steps forward slowly. Aziraphale hears him bend down, and then feels warm lips against his skin. Two, one for each shoulder. The kisses move Aziraphale, and he feels a lump form in his throat.
"Nah." Crowley murmurs, when he pulls away. "You're still beautiful to me."
"Still?" Aziraphale says weakly. He turns around. Crowley has bowed his head - embarrassed, Aziraphale thinks fondly.
"Yeah." Crowley swallows and looks up. He meets his eyes. "You always have been, angel."
What a revelation, Aziraphale thinks. He feels the word warm him from the inside out. Pleased, he smiles. Beautiful. Perhaps it's his vanity that makes him keen with pleasure like a happy cat. He's always loved being pampered and praised and spoiled. Bless Crowley for giving that to him.
"Why do you still call me that?"
"Hm?" Crowley hasn't processed the moment yet. Aziraphale can see his panic, his shyness, clear as day. "Call you what?"
"Angel." Aziraphale says. "I'm not- I'm not an angel anymore."
"Ah." Crowley pauses. He runs a hand through his hair and looks up to the skies, as if praying. "It's never been because of that, angel."
"What do you mean?"
"It doesn't matter if you're a demon, or an angel, or a human, or whatever." Crowley says. "You're-"
Aziraphale watches as he struggles with his words.
"You're still my angel." Crowley finally says. It's a warm confession, muttered from embarrassed lips, and Aziraphale is filled with wonder as he realises Crowley loves him completely, no matter what his form is.
"Oh." Aziraphale whispers. "I see."
"Do you?" Crowley asks.
"Yes, Crowley." Aziraphale takes one of Crowley's hands and squeezes it. "I do."
*
The day his transformation is finally complete, Aziraphale stands in the middle of his bookshop and spreads out his demon wings.
They're jet black, sharp and cold to the touch. He now has ripped feathers that are ugly to look at. Aziraphale flaps them, curious, and is surprised to find he isn't repulsed by them. He feels a disconnect from his wings, but he'd felt that same disconnect with his angel wings. Perhaps because, like Crowley, he's always been more like a human. Inside, where it matters, they've never been angel or demon.
It's begun to hurt less. Crowley has laughed with him, has treated him to endless desserts, has held him when Aziraphale had felt he was crumbling under his new self - and it has begun to hurt less. In fact, Aziraphale is getting used to it.
He doesn't want to do demonic deeds like Crowley. He already told Crowley as much. And Crowley, bless him, had laughed for a long time when he said it.
"I can't remember the last time I worked ." Crowley had said, still amused, as if being a demon was a job, a role, rather than what he was. "Heaven and hell are afraid of us now anyway, angel. No one's going to be chasing you up for your monthly report. Not anymore."
And that, Aziraphale thinks, is reassuring. He doesn't think he has it in him to spread torment. Just as he was terrible at spreading good will, he'd be equally as bad at being a demon. That, Crowley had said, is the way they are meant to be.
"It's sort of like we're humans now." Aziraphale had said. Crowley had raised an eyebrow at him as if to say, duh.
Aziraphale flaps his wings again. They still hurt a little, but Aziraphale feels himself growing stronger every day. When he turns his head and catches his permanently black eyes in the mirror, he doesn't even mind it.
"Looking good, angel." A familiar voice drawls.
"C-Crowley!" Aziraphale gasps. His wings disappear in an instant, and he turns, completely embarrassed, to the other demon. "You gave me a fright."
"They're looking strong. Your wings, I mean. You're making a lot of progress." Crowley says. He runs his hand along the bookshelves, "And will you look at that! No dust. Are you feeling better angel?"
"I can't believe I let the bookshop get into such a state." Aziraphale sniffs. Crowley sends him a smile.
"Quite demonic of you, wasn't it?"
"Oh, hush, you old serpent." Aziraphale says. He smiles. He's smiling much more, lately, perhaps more than he did when he was an angel. "What are you doing here?"
"Just checking on you." Crowley says nonchalently. Aziraphale's heart warms.
"Why, thank you, Crowley." Aziraphale says sweetly.
"Thought we could go out for dinner, now that you're feeling better." Crowley turns to him shyly. "Tonight, maybe?"
"Well, that would be delightful!" Aziraphale says cheerily. "You're paying, I presume?"
"Demanding, aren't you?" Crowley grumbles, but he's still smiling. Aziraphale wonders at how their dynamic hasn't changed at all. It wasn't because they were angel and demon that they got along, Aziraphale realises, it's because they were themselves. Compatible in every form.
"Thank you, my dear." Aziraphale says. "Now that you mention it, I've been feeling quite restless lately. How about a walk?"
Crowley shrugs.
"Why not?" He asks. "It's going to rain, though. Don't want to get you wet."
Aziraphale opens his hand, and an umbrella materialises.
"Getting quite liberal with your demonic miracles, aren't you?" Crowley laughs.
"It's like you said. Heaven and hell aren't watching anymore, are they?" Aziraphale says. He steps forward, and smiles at Crowley. "Aren't you coming, dear?"
"Yeah, yeah." Crowley says.
"After you." Aziraphale says, opening the door for the demon.
Watching Crowley step in front of him, Aziraphale feels a wave of gratitude and love. Without him, he might never have survived his fall. Crowley is a true friend, and more of an angel than any of the celestial beings Aziraphale had ever met.
"Crowley." Aziraphale says, grabbing his arm. "One moment."
"What?" Crowley asks, turning to him.
Aziraphale reaches up and presses a long, warm kiss to Crowley's lips. Crowley is stiff with surprise, but his hand lands on Azirahale's cheek. When he pulls away Aziraphale notices how he's gone bright red.
"What- ngk, what was that for?" Crowley splutters.
"Well, I'm trying something new." Aziraphale says. He's bright pink in the cheeks, but he gives Crowley a pleased smile. "That's what humans do, isn't it?"
Crowley turns quickly to the doorway, and steps outside.
"I think I preferred it when you were in denial." Crowley grumbles.
"You don't mean that." Aziraphale says cheerfully.
Aziraphale walks in step beside Crowley, as his equal. That's how they'll always be, Aziraphale thinks, for eternity.
Equals.