Chapter Text
Humans touched a lot, Aziraphale noticed not for the first time. He had been sitting alone on a bench, wiping stray crumbs off his pants onto the ground for the crowd of ducklings he had acquired. A human couple had walked by, stumbling into each other's arms, gazes soft and loving. They giggled as their hands laced together between them. Aziraphale averted his eyes as they passed, only looking back to catch a glimpse of the two pulling each other in for a delicate kiss.
A couple in love, he thought to himself, abruptly shifting his gaze back to the dirt path before him. His cheeks were tainted pink and his hands were folded neatly in his lap. The familiar hurt in his chest overwhelmed his senses. As it always did, it left him silently begging — praying — for a touch like that, any touch would suffice at this point.
Squeezing his eyes shut and with a deep breath, he let the pressure dissipate as he had done for centuries. Just a dull ache remained as a reminder of his desperate want. It was no use to dwell on such a useless pain, Aziraphale told himself, there was nothing to be done.
You see, angel’s were built with a need for comfort and touch, it’s their purpose. Yet, over the millenia’s Aziraphale worked on earth, he forced himself to see it as just another trait that separated him from the ideal angel he was meant to be. It was much easier to tell himself that rather than face the fact that heaven had become something unimaginably cruel.
Heaven had been a soothing place, a home, where angel’s loved and touched each other as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It was something embedded into an ethereal being; yet after the Eden incident, heaven had stopped being so comforting… at least to him.
Every time he would go upstairs, the angels he encountered were rigid and business like. There was no comforting gaze or hands casually brushing each other or any touching in general. The archangel's simply ordered him around, standing out of arm's reach and no comforting warmth radiating from their power as it had once before.
At first, the transition was harsh for the poor angel. Being raised in constant touch and love, the sudden lack was abrupt and uncomfortable. Trying to get what he needed from humans was looked down upon from heaven. There was a stigma of ruining God's newest creation that was still fresh in Aziraphale’s mind. He tried to be the good soldier, keeping his needs to himself, refusing to show weakness. But as anyone who had basic knowledge of angels, it wasn't a surprise when he came back to heaven. It was just a matter of time.
Aziraphale held out for about a year. Which was quite an impressive feat, yet wasn’t acknowledged by the higher ups. He returned to the gates pleading with tears in his eyes, begging for someone to make the ache go away… to just touch him. He yearned for the comfort that heaven once had, for a loving touch he was denied for so long.
To this day, the scene that unfolded before him was burned into the back of his mind. Something he had tried so hard to forget, but needed the reminder for the long years ahead. The archangels stared at him, mannerisms much more sophisticated compared to Aziraphale’s own sloppy pleads. After allowing him to say his piece, they shared a look before Gabriel approached.
The principality nearly cried out in relief when the archangel had stepped into his personal space. It was the closest anyone had gotten to him in an incredibly long time. The warmth that radiated off of him had the angel’s eyes fluttering shut in the anticipation of touch, a hopeful smile gracing his lips.
There was a rough, hot touch on his cheek. Steady fingers digged into Aziraphale’s skin more harshly than expected. His eyes flew open wide as he was forced to look up into the depths of violet irises. An uneasy feeling settled deep down into the angel's stomach as a fevered heat overwhelmed him. Despite his nerves, this was exactly what he had asked for and he sighed into the touch. Trying to relax into it and remember the feeling of what heaven was like.
"You really believe," Gabriel started, his voice low and dark, "that you deserve to be touched, you pathetic excuse of an angel." He dropped his hand and the warmth was abruptly torn away. The void that Airaphale was desperately trying to fill was left gaping open. He couldn’t hold himself together anymore and was forced to his knees, shivering as fear, dread, and a terrible coldness debilitated his corporation.
"You abandoned your post, lost your sword, — a divine object may I remind you —" Michael hissed, "Not to mention, extended a wing to a demon, the great tempter of all beings! Aziraphale…" The archangel chided, "be thankful to god almighty you have not fallen."
The principality choked on an apology, a plea, anything to just make the cold go away. He needed that touch, no matter how rough or cruel it was. The pressure in his chest was stronger as it had ever been and longed for release. He couldn't vocalize anything except for a soft sob.
A snide laugh was heard as Sandalphon continued Michael’s threat, "Until we deem you worthy, you won't be getting the comfort you so desperately need." his golden eyes raked over the quivering angel crying before him. Sandalphon just laughed mercilessly in his face, "Good luck getting it from those humans."
A chorus of laughs was heard as Aziraphale felt himself get transported back down to Earth. It was dark and wet, wherever they sent him. He laid on the cold ground, eyes trained to the darkening sky above him. It was raining.
His usually soft bright curls dampened and darkened until it matched the mud he was laying in. His tears blended with rainwater as glassy blue eyes stared up, unblinking. Shivers racked his body and quiet sobs were drowned out by the rainfall.
He had prayed to her for the warmth that he had once known to be her light. He prayed for a ray of sunshine. A friendly angel or human. Or even the kindness of a red-headed demon. Anything to make just the fraction of his pain disappear. Yet, nothing and no one ever came.
As the years passed Aziraphale grew to realize that despite his pain, he didn't regret any of the things he did in Eden. Though his punishment was harsh, he was resourceful and found different ways to cope:
First thing he tried was human companionship. Their lingering touches were enjoyable in the moment but in the end the anguish from their loss lasted longer than the comfort he gained. After many centuries of losing many human companions — that only ever resulted in decades of depression after their passing — , he resolved that he would always be one lonely angel. Of course his resolve broke over the course of the millenia’s, but it was never his first choice to satisfy his need.
Then there was alcohol: his most trusted. It was liquid warmth and when he drank enough of it, it was easier to forget his torment. When the world tilted and his vision blurred, he would finally be able to relax. If he couldn't sit up straight, it was a good sign. The hard drinks coated his corporation like an armor, protecting him from the wrath of heaven.
Food was one of his favorite coping mechanisms. It was more of a distraction, really. Humans were increasingly creative with how they mixed spices and meats together over the years. There was always something new to try. The angel loved every aspect of it. Consuming such foods made his corporation warm and content. It helped fill the void in his chest that seemed to freeze his very core.
His all time favorite coping mechanism came and went like a warm breeze on a chilly spring day: A red-headed demon he had met on the wall of Eden.
Whenever Crowley was in the area, the angel always brightened up. The time of The Arrangement was a time of prosperity and joy for the angel. He had gotten quite skilled at squashing down his need to be touched by the time it was fully in effect. Yes, there was the rare moment when he broke down at the sight of a couple kissing however, the angel was careful to make sure that the demon was never around during them. He didn’t want to ruin the careful balance of friendship they had built.
Aziraphale felt that if he asked for the demon’s help, it would change how he saw the clearly broken angel. There was always the thought in the back of his mind: If my own kind is disgusted at the thought of touching me, why would a demon even consider it? On the off chance that Crowley would be accommodating in assisting the angel, he wasn’t sure if he was ready for the questions that the dear demon loved to ask.
Another reason he hesitated to request the demon’s help was that since he had been without touch for so long, the briefest brush of hands would make him incredibly vulnerable mentally and physically in front of the demon. As much as he trusted Crowley, he didn’t want to put himself in a position of admitting that heaven may not be all that good just from a few clever questions. At least not yet.
It wasn’t until the years leading up to the apocalypse did Crowley’s usually alleviating presence become the angel’s source of anguish.
The space between them had shrunk over the past 6000 years. When they walked or sat, Aziraphale could feel heat radiate off the demon. It was intoxicating. Just being near him made the pain so much better while simultaneously making it so much worse. It was tempting him as something he could never have. As they worked together at the Dowling’s estate and drank themselves silly during the years leading up to Armageddon, Crowley’s familiar presence just made him long for more. For touch.
But conflicting thoughts filled his head as the end drew near. Maybe this was the grand test that would get him back into heaven's good graces. If he didn’t succumb to his desires on earth, he might finally be allowed to feel that heavenly warmth again. It had been his goal for so long that he didn’t even think to ask himself if that was what he still wanted.
Just before the end, he chose heaven over Crowley and he immediately regretted it.