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If there’s one thing Aziraphale excels at, it’s doing things far too slowly.
Living in 2019 without a mobile phone or a computer, for example. Nearly everyone in his life - human or otherwise - teased him about being stuck in the 1900’s, with his dusty old telephone and no semblance of technology in his shop. It never bothered him; the comments were nothing more than dust to brush off his shoulder. He simply knew what he liked, thank you very much, and had no desire to unnecessarily complicate matters.
Regret isn’t a feeling he’s overly familiar with[1], but he’s drowning in an ocean of it now. The undercurrent filled with ‘what if’s and ‘I should have’s has a firm grip on him, dragging him down, down, down so far it’s nothing short of a miracle that he hasn’t found himself surrounded by demons. Or at the very center of the universe, preparing to be judged by Her Holiness.
Oh, how things could have been different. If only he’d paid attention to the warning signs; if only he’d followed when Crowley fled the UK. Content in the belief that they had several hundred years of peace at minimum before either side would attempt to eliminate them again, he’d shrugged off Crowley’s insistence that something bad was about to happen.
Which is how he ended up here, face-to-face with Alpha Centuri A, unbothered by the heat or searing light.
The preservation of his humanly body hardly counts as a minor miracle in the vastness of space, but surely the Almighty can grant him some amount of leeway, considering.
“Oh, Crowley,” he murmurs, the star dimming under the weight of his heavy sadness[2]. “I should have came here with you when I had the chance.”
It’s at that moment the unthinkable occurs. “Oy!” a voice shouts, far too familiar for Aziraphale’s comfort. “You there. Angel. Stop that, or you’ll put the whole thing out. And that wouldn’t make him very happy, now, would it?”
It can’t be… “Crowley?” he asks, the ghost of a smile daring to flit across his face. It’s impossible, right? He saw the footage, the… the… way he was…
But that’s his voice.
“I’ll be damned, I thought you… were…” He feels his throat close up as soon as he turns, the face he’s greeted with… wrong.
Most of it is wrong. The brown hair, brown eyes. The outfit; good heavens, Crowley would never wear that.
“I hear it’s not so bad once you get used to it,” Not-Crowley jokes with a smile that doesn’t fit his face. “...no? Too soon, right. Sorry, so sorry. Ah.” A grimace and awkward neck scratch precedes his next statement. “I’m not very good at comforting. Rubbish, actually. But I got a distress call on my psychic paper…”
The ‘psychic paper’ is held in a wallet for ID cards - Aziraphale doesn’t want to know why - and contains three words. “‘Help me’,” he reads out loud, frowning. “‘Dying’. But I didn’t send this.”
“Nah, ‘course you didn’t. It was the, uh, the… well. It was the star.” Gesturing at the yellow mass in front of them, Not-Crowley slips the wallet back into a pocket in his oversized brown coat. “Bit unusual, a star calling out. They’re not exactly sentient, like you and me. But when billions and billions of molecules feel threatened…” He shrugs a single shoulder.
“Oh.” What on earth is this madman gibbering on about? A pregnant pause fills the space between them, the only sounds the renewed pops of the flames from the star. “Well. That’s interesting, but I have a prior engagement-“
“He was a good man,” the stranger interrupts, no longer looking at Aziraphale but rather the star, eyes now hidden through thick sunglasses. “Ran into him a few times, you know. Centuries of traveling through time and space, it’s a wonder I didn’t meet more of you lot.”
“More of…?”
“Angels, demons, what have you. Celestial be-ings,” he says, ending with an odd emphasis on the last part of the word. “Time Lords are raised not to believe in religion. Never thought God was a reality til I met him. Realized I have a lot to learn about the universe yet.” With a large grin, he shifts his gaze to Aziraphale and leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “For instance: did you know that when Adam banished Satan, he actually just sent him to a planet named Krop Tor?”
The giddiness in his words creates a weird sense of ease in Aziraphale. Here’s another creature who enjoys learning. Too bad every word from his mouth sounds like absolute rubbish. “Time Lord? Krop Tor? What in the name of the Almighty are you going on about?”
Not-Crowley has the good sense to look abashed. “Ah, right. Sorry. Forget you don’t know much about the universe beyond earth.” Stepping to the very edge of his ship, the man extends a hand, which Aziraphale takes. He shakes it vigorously with both hands before releasing him. “You can call me the Doctor! I’m a Time Lord, a species created with the ability to see through time and space. We designed ships such as this-“ he gently taps the side of the blue box, “-to travel about and help the galaxy along. Also to make sure the baddies out there don’t mess anything up. And Krop Tor is a planet that won’t be discovered by humans for another 2,000 years or so.”
Yeah, that really helped clear things up. “Alright then, Doctor,” Aziraphale begins cautiously, “You say you knew Crowley?”
“Yeah, I knew him. Probably would’ve called him a friend. Anytime I was in the neighborhood and free, we went out for chips!” The glee on his face is so genuine, he must be telling the truth. “Did wonder why I couldn’t track him down after the 21st century, but it was hidden from me. Until now.” Sobering up, the Doctor takes a seat, legs dangling into space. “He was a good man. A downright awful demon, but a good man. Even tried to call me in to help with Armageddon, but I was unfortunately otherwise occupied[3].”
A twinge of jealousy rears its head at the knowledge Crowley had someone else to call upon, but Aziraphale quickly ushers it into a room in the back of his mind and locks the door. He’ll deal with it later. Maybe. “He was,” he agrees quietly, a fond smile adorning his lips. “Ah, I miss him. Too bad I can’t travel through time. I’d give anything to be able to tell him…” Trailing off, he shakes his head and straightens his bow tie. “No matter. It can’t be done.”
“Well…” the Doctor drawls, sporting a mischievous grin that looks far too much like Crowley’s for comfort, “I might be able to help with that.” Jumping to his feet, he steps back from the doorway and extends an arm of welcome. “Join me. I have something he’d like you to see.”
Whether it’s desperation or sheer stupidity that drives Aziraphale to accept, he’s unsure. Regardless, he makes a split second decision, approaching the police box and feeling himself pass an invisible barrier. Ah, that’s how he was managing not to combust. Once his feet touch the floor, he folds his wings in, but doesn’t tuck them away quite yet.
The room is, of course, bigger on the inside than the exterior appearance of a calling box would indicate. “Ah, makes sense,” he comments idly, glancing around. “Nice manipulation of space.”
“Thank you.” For reasons he can’t fathom, the Doctor’s reaction almost seems… disappointed[4]. “Welcome aboard the TARDIS! Short for Time And Relative Dimension In Space!” He rushes around the center console, pulling a lever here, pushing a button there, even spinning a wheel. Aziraphale watches in amusement as he throws himself all over, listening to the hum of the engine.
“She sings beautifully.” Thinking nothing of the comment, he jumps in surprise when suddenly face-to-face with an intrigued Doctor.
“What do you mean?”
“Why, can’t you hear her?” How could anyone possibly not be able to hear? It’s so loud, joyful. “She’s singing. Began the moment you started rushing around that command center of yours.”
“No, I-I can’t.” Looking crestfallen, the Doctor turns away.
“She’s happy.” Aziraphale pauses, letting the music wash over him. “She loves doing this with you. But, my dear man, where are you taking me?”
Having perked up at being told the TARDIS is happy, the Doctor gives him the same crooked grin as before. “Same place, but at the beginning.” And then he dashes back to the console, abruptly halting their movement and with it, the enchanting voice.
“I don’t understand what you me-“ The last word is abruptly cut off as he’s yanked forward by his arm, the Doctor pulling him along as he throws open the doors.
“See? No Alpha Centuri yet,” he points out, eyes sparkling with sheer excitement. “But…” Drawing out the vowel, he indicates below them.
Following his finger, Aziraphale startles when he sees an angel floating in the middle of nothing. Long, curly red hair floats around them, giving them an even more ethereal look when combined with the angelic glow. Very slowly, they begin to summon all sorts of heavenly materials, forming them into dust, rocks, ice.
The manner in which the angel swings their hips and motions extravagantly with their arms causes Aziraphale’s breath to hitch. “Is that…?” he asks, wonder laced through each letter.
“Ye-up.” The ‘p’ is popped obnoxiously loud, but he doesn’t look chagrined when Aziraphale shoots him an unimpressed glance.”Crowley. Pre-fall. Or as he was known then… Raphael.”
“Raphael,” Aziraphale breathes, heart racing in disbelief. “I… I always wondered what happened to him. But I never would have believed…” Eyes trained on Crow- Raphael, he clutches his hands together and smiles. It looks like he’s dancing. “But why didn’t he tell me?”
“He didn’t remember. None of them remember who they were. Part of God’s punishment, I’d wager.” The shape of the first star begins to take form. “After meeting him, I did run across a few other demons. Hastur and Ligur. Rather unpleasant, those two. No fun at all. Made me realize how unusual Crowley was. It’s a miracle he could remember this much."
“I always thought he was just being dramatic.” Oh, the guilt. Slamming back into him like a truck, he sniffs. “He really did make them…”
“Control your emotions,” the Doctor warns, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He’s aware of our presence, but let’s not distract him.”
Each movement is precise and yet fluid, like a carefully performed dance, and Aziraphale can’t look away. Not that he wants to. This is Crowley before he knew him, before he fell. Creating something so special, so amazing.
After some time, the Doctor speaks again. “He was a source of hope for me. That I could be better, you know. If a demon can do good things, then surely I can, too[5].”
Aziraphale nods. Yes, he can understand that sentiment. He felt it often himself, though on a more conflicted level.
“I think I unconsciously chose this face as a reminder. Though why he gets to be ginger and I don’t…” Soft laughter greets his ears.
Silence falls between them once more, Aziraphale no longer paying the strange comments this man makes any mind.
Beneath them, Raphael continues his haunting dance, piecing the system together. Angels were never known to dance, just as demons lacked imagination. And yet Crowley defied both, a unique creature from the very beginning. Time passes in the way it does when watching someone do what they love; much too fast. Soon the last bits are being formed, the more tedious process of perfecting beginning.
Too soon. Aziraphale could watch this for days. “Thank you,” he whispers, abashed to find tears gathering in his eyes. “Thank- thank you so much, I never- I didn’t, he never-“
The Doctor hushes him, shaking his head. “Keep watching. The best is yet to come.”
There’s no time to dwell on the quizzical nature of the words. As soon as Aziraphale opens his mouth to ask, he’s hit by an overwhelming sensation of warmth; love, beauty, and something so Crowley engulfs him.
A realization slams into Aziraphale while he’s still staggered, brought to his knees by the pure intensity of emotion. He literally made them with a piece of himself. Never gone. Always there. It’s a glorious thought. Not quite as fulfilling as, say, finding out it was all an elaborate hoax and this man is actually Crowley, but it still provides him with a comfort nothing else can. There’s always going to be a bit of my demon, floating out here.
The waves swell, the blinding light of a star being born forcing the Doctor to disappear around the corner. Aziraphale’s tears continue to fall as he begins to laugh, Raphael’s radiant ecstasy filling him to the brim with joy. Memories play in his mind; the good, the bad, the normal. Crowley’s smile; the way he looked at him, all his love laid bare behind this blasted glasses; the moment he’d realized he was falling for him.
When the light fades and the tide of emotion ebbs, Aziraphale continues to kneel at the edge of the TARDIS, tears streaming down his face. But they’re no longer those of grief; no, they’re the kind of tears one cries when so happy there’s no other way to release the energy of it. He feels renewed, whole.
Raphael is done. A fully created and functioning star system has been born. A stunning piece of art. Still reeling from the overload of emotions, Aziraphale nearly misses it when Raphael turns, bright golden eyes alight with amusement and a smile so… so Crowley beaming up at him. The archangel offers a small nod of acknowledgement to the strange vehicle containing a lifeform he’s yet unaware of[6] and an angel he’s only seen from afar before disappearing with a snap of his fingers.
Minutes pass. Aziraphale doesn’t move, closing his eyes and taking in the energy surrounding the stars. How did I miss this before? Am I that thick, that I can’t sense him here?
“He never really left you, you know.” The Doctor reemerges, his footsteps soft as they approach Aziraphale. “I can’t pretend to understand how the deaths of celestial beings work, but if I’m as good as people think I am, then I’d say there’s a piece of him in those stars. And there always will be. For eternity[7].”
“Yeah.” In a voice full of emotion, Aziraphale agrees, wiping his eyes and standing. “You’re right. For eternity.” Whenever I miss him, I can come visit him. Talk to him. “Thank you for showing me this. How will I ever repay you?”
“Ah, it’s nothing. Just keep being the Angel Crowley always spoke so highly of.” The Doctor shrugs it off nonchalantly, gently patting his shoulder. “Let’s get you back home before I end up on God’s bad side, eh?”
“Yeah, alright.” He spoke about me?[8] How much more can Aziraphale take before his body overheats and he’s reduced to his angelic form? Ah, he needs to get himself under control. No doubt Heaven wouldn’t welcome him back, and who knows if Adam would be up to creating his humanly body again. “Drop me off at my bookshop, please. I have something to do.”
1He’s felt it a few times over the years, but only for short intervals. As an Angel of the Lord and a Principality at that, his duty was to serve Her in the best way possible, and sometimes that meant doing things he wouldn’t normally consider. Best not to dwell on those matters. [return to text]
2A celestial being is capable of great torrents of emotion, far beyond what a human could ever imagine. When not controlled, this emotion emits from them in palpable waves, able to affect the environment surrounding them. In this case, Aziraphale’s sadness - an emotion with an icy outline, heavy and cold - is flowing from him with such intensity that it’s contrasting the billions of molecular reactions creating the heat and light from the star.[return to text]
3It was during this time that the Doctor found himself on an alternate earth with companions Rose Tyler and Mickey Smith. He told them to be careful, but as per usual, no one listened to him. Even had the call came through - which would have taken a miracle in itself - he was busy, soon to be accosted by Cybermen and tasked with saving an earth not his own.[return to text]
4This event is the second time an alien creature has stepped aboard the TARDIS without remarking in surprise about it’s size - an exclamation the Doctor rather enjoys. The first time was, of course, Crowley, who walked in, looked around, and shrugged. Crowley was impressively hard to impress, and it drove the Doctor mad.[return to text]
5The Doctor's main goal is to help people. Like Crowley (and who knows who adopted it from the other), he detests being called nice, since nice is not what he aims for. But over the centuries he's been flying about in his TARDIS, he's failed. More than once. Occasionally he's found himself cast in the role of the villain - such as with his home planet of Gallifrey. It's when he's feeling like he should give up, that all he does is make things worse, that he thinks of the fallen-angel-now-demon Crowley and how he persistently does what he believes is right (when it counts, at least). Even if it goes against his 'job' as a demon. Even if Hell would be displeased with him. If a demon can do the right thing, then certainly the Doctor can.[return to text]
6 Archangel Raphael was always God’s curious child. Everything caught his attention and made him wonder, made him want to understand and know the hows and whys. He constantly asked questions about Her plan, never wiling to settle for the lack of explanation when he had so much more to learn. The weird blue box and lifeform within it was merely another question to ask when he next could, in his mind.[return to text]
7Eternity is a rather new concept to the Doctor, but also one he knows won't last. After all, he's been there: to the end of the Universe. He's unsure how exactly it comes about, but he knows for certain it does. Nonetheless, he will not disclose such a depressing truth to someone he only just managed to cheer up. [return to text]
5For many years, Crowley had spoken to the Doctor about the Angel of the Eastern Gate, the Bookshop Keeper, the one he refused to admit his love for but the Doctor could see it as plain as day. He’d made the Doctor promise to never bother Aziraphale - it’s easy for a curious creature to recognize their kin - and the Doctor had kept that promise up until now. [return to text]