Chapter Text
His heart hurt as if it had broken into a million pieces and scattered with the wind. He didn’t think things would end up the way they did between him and Crowley.
Even though his heart ached and felt like it would burst out of his chest at any moment, his lips still tingled with that kiss. He had tried many earthly delights in his long life, but nothing came close to the way Crowley's lips felt against his, even if it had been a desperate kiss and nothing like the love-filled act of adoration he had hoped they'd share for, well, forever now.
As much as he told himself that it wasn’t the time, that he needed to forget, riding in that elevator with Metatron, memories of all his time with Crowley kept rushing to the forefront of his mind and making themselves home there.
How it was Crowley that introduced him to the joys of human food.
That time in Paris when Crowley had saved him from getting his head cut off, or that time in the church when Crowley had come for him even though they had fought and saved his books.
Or the many times they dined out together, and how they had worked together and saved the world. Or how he removed the stain of paint off Aziraphale’s tartan jacket just because Aziraphale was bothered by it. And how, despite disagreeing with the notion of it, Crowley had stayed to look after the amnesiac Gabriel with him even though he hated it.
There were many times that Crowley had been there for him and done things for him. Just like Crowley had said, Aziraphale could always rely on Crowley just like Crowley could always rely on him.
He had known since the incident in the church that he had feelings for Crowley even if he had never acknowledged them for what they were, and while he knew that Crowley cared for him in his own way, even if he often denied it when Aziraphale called him nice or got grumpy when Aziraphale thanked him, he knew that Crowley cared. He just didn’t know that he cared in the same way that Aziraphale did. Didn’t know that his feelings were reciprocated.
And now, here they were. Crowley, angry at and disappointed in him, probably also heartbroken, while Aziraphale was on the elevator headed back to heaven with Metatron.
Yet, even now, Aziraphale couldn’t stop thinking about Crowley’s expression before and after he basically poured his heart out and kissed Aziraphale and the words he’d said last before he had exited the bookshop without another glance.
Aziraphale’s stomach churned. While he had always heard Crowley talk smack about both heaven and hell and knew that Crowley really hated hell, somehow, he thought that all his smack talk about heaven was because he wasn’t part of it anymore, and that if he had the chance to, he would go back.
He really thought Crowley would come with him. Which, now that he thought about it, it was a stupid thought. His free-spirited longtime friend wouldn’t have chosen to, and even if he had gone with Aziraphale back to heaven, it wouldn’t have been for any other reason than for Aziraphale himself, and Crowley certainly wouldn’t have been happy there even if he had decided to put up with it for Aziraphale.
Oh, how could he have been so blind to not have seen that? He had let the prospect of making a difference and being together with Crowley forever blind him.
Here he was now, on the elevator without Crowley while Crowley was out there on earth, brokenhearted and angry, possibly thinking that Aziraphale had abandoned him, chosen heaven over him.
Why didn’t Crowley understand that Aziraphale only wanted to make a difference?
By taking the position Metatron offered and returning to heaven, Aziraphale would be privy to information they wouldn’t be able to get otherwise, he would have inside knowledge of any plan heaven tried to come up with and could act right away. If he were the supreme archangel, he would be able to influence things and make sure that there would be no other Armageddon and nothing that would chase, hunt, and hurt Crowley ever again.
He thought Crowley would see that. He thought that Crowley, his friend of over six thousand years, and with whom he had shared many moments and with whom he had saved the world, and on Crowley’s suggestion no less, would understand.
Maybe not. Maybe their way of thinking was too different, or maybe Aziraphale just wasn’t good at explaining things, but things hadn’t gone the way he thought they would.
And now, there was only regret and pain. He was so regretful, he was breathless with it. His sight blurred with unshed tears and his throat grew tight.
The urge to just fall to his knees and call for Crowley, to just sit there and scream out Crowley’s name was there, choking him. But he couldn’t do it. Not where he was, on the lift back to heaven, and not with Metatron there.
Aziraphale wished he could go back to that moment in the bookshop when Crowley had grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and kissed him. Wished that rather than panicking and freaking out, he had kissed him back instead. He wished to look into Crowley’s slitted golden eyes, apologize for being so stupid and naive, and promise that he would stay. He wished he could tell Crowley he felt the same but was confused and panicked and didn’t know what to do. He wanted to take Crowley’s offer, to do as Beelzebub and Gabriel had done and go off somewhere, just the two of them.
He wanted to go back.
But could he? Could he go back now that he was already on the elevator on his way to heaven? Would Metatron accept it if he said he had changed his mind and let him go? Because he wanted to go. He wanted to leave and go back to his little bookshop and go for breakfast with Crowley at the Ritz. He was pulled out of his thoughts by a ding from the elevator.
It was too late.
“We’re here,” Metatron announced, exiting the elevator the moment the doors had parted open. “Let’s go and get you acquainted with your new duties now, shall we?”
Aziraphale couldn’t say anything, so he gave an awkward smile and followed after Metatron deeper into heaven and farther away from Crowley.