Chapter Text
When it's all over, Heaven in ruins and Hell reduced to dust, when all that's left is Earth and its populace, an angel and a demon stand facing each other on the remains of the final battlefield. Crowley stands easy and confident, as ever, but his jaw is tense and his fingers flex. Opposite him, Aziraphale stands drooping, shoulders and wings slumped as he takes in the sight of his counterpart.
"Crowley," he breathes, taking the smallest step forward that has ever been recorded in this universe's history.
"Aziraphale," Crowley says. He means it to come off neutrally; instead, he just sounds wary. Nervous. Scared, almost, if a demon can be scared.
Aziraphale takes another step forward and then collapses to his knees. Crowley makes a startled, concerned noise and starts toward him.
"Crowley," Aziraphale gasps. His fingers clench in the dirt as his shoulders shake. "Crowley, can you ever forgive me?"
Crowley regards him for a moment, and then sighs, dropping to his knees to join the angel. His sunglasses he removes and drops them into the blood-stirred dust.
"Angel," he murmurs softly. His hand finds its way onto Aziraphale's shoulder, and then, as though on its own, slides up into his hair. The angel sighs into the touch and leans in.
"My angel," Crowley murmurs again. "I think there is very little I wouldn't forgive you, given sufficient motivation."
Aziraphale huffs a tiny laugh. His eyes are closed. "Is it too late?" he asks, forcing them open with a painful effort.
Yellow eyes meet blue. "Too late for what?"
"To run away with you," Aziraphale says softly. "To go somewhere where it's just us, no one else, where we can be together."
The hand in Aziraphale's hair strokes his scalp lightly. "Is that what you want?" Crowley asks. His voice is soft, measured, all his twitchiness gone in response to the angel's need.
"I want to be where you are." Aziraphale leans closer, dragging his fingers from the dirt to grip them in the collar of Crowley's shirt. "Forever, that's all I want. Just to be where you are. To be with you."
Crowley lifts his other hand to brush against Aziraphale's cheek. Quietly, barely more than a whisper, he says, "It doesn't have to be."
Aziraphale blinks at him, beseeching and lost. "It doesn't have to be what?"
"Too late."
Palpable relief rushes across Aziraphale's face. He tips his head forward until his forehead is resting against Crowley's. "Crowley, I'm so tired," he murmurs. His wings come forward to wrap around them both, wingtips meeting just under where Crowley's wings sprout from his back.
Crowley tips Aziraphale's head back and lays a kiss on his forehead, and another on his mouth. "Come away with me," he murmurs, for the third time in his life. "Let me take you somewhere where you can rest. Where I can watch over you."
"Yes," Aziraphale breathes, without a moment's hesitation. "Anywhere, as long as you're there too." His eyes are closed once more.
"Hold tight," Crowley says. Aziraphale's hands and wings tighten their grasp, pulling the angel and demon so close together that their noses brush.
"I love you, Crowley," Aziraphale says. His voice cracks with the weight of his exhaustion. “I always have.”
"I love you too, angel," Crowley responds, and with the crack of mighty wings, the duo vanish, leaving only a matching pair of knee prints in the dust.