Chapter Text
Asa's last day alive started the same as many others.
Years into the monotonous bliss of retirement, Asa had no need to set an alarm in the morning. He hated the feeling of lounging the whole day away, however, and so made sure to wake up at a reasonable (but leisurely) time anyways: Eight A.M. Asa's proclivity for mornings was one of the few things that his husband griped at him about. If Asa did not stir right away, which was an uncommon but not entirely abnormal occurrence, Anthony would swat him on the shoulder and grumble something like, "If you don't turn down that Stravinsky right now…" Asa would always respond, "Tchaikovsky, my dear boy. Quite different," Before silencing the melodic canon fire. As of late, he'd changed his alarm from 1812 Overture to the first Promenade theme from Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition. Anthony seemed to mind the new alarm less than the old.
Presently, Asa arose from his alarm and shut it off before the rest of the orchestra even had a chance to join in with the trumpets. With a stifled groan he moved his legs over the side of the bed and slipped his feet into a pair of warm fuzzy slippers that Anthony had gotten for him a couple Christmases ago. He quietly shuffled from the bedroom, set a kettle on the stove, and fetched the newspaper from the end of their driveway. He set the damp paper on the table where Anthony would eventually join, and set about fixing breakfast. Neither he nor his husband were particularly good cooks, so they frequently ate out. Their car was currently in the shop for something Asa didn't understand but was sure they were going to be overcharged for, and the bus stop was too far to be worth the trouble of walking, so the men were marooned at their cottage for the time being. Thankfully Asa could make edible eggs and toast. He didn't fix Anthony a plate yet, seeing how it would just get cold (plus, if he ate fast enough he could make himself seconds along with Anthony's firsts). He spread a pear jam on a couple pieces of bread and munched on them as he did the crossword from the only page of the newspaper he ever looked at. He frowned as he saw that there were only two words on today's puzzle.
Across
9 letters: Coming.
Down
13 letters: Rebirth.
It was bizarre to fill out a crossword with only two words. And with such pitiful clues. He picked up his pencil from the same place he'd left it the day prior and filled in Imminent across and Reincarnation down. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to purchase a proper crossword book to fill out, if the paper was going to start producing puzzles of this meager caliber.
After breakfast, he washed off his plate and set it in the dish rack. A glance at the clock. As if cued by his impatience, Anthony slunk from around the corner and straight to his chair.
"Good morning, my dear," Asa greeted, chipper.
"G'morning."
Asa set a steaming hot mug of coffee— black, like Anthony liked it— in front of his husband and turned the handle to him. They existed in silence until Anthony was done, the only sounds in the room coming from the quiet sizzle of eggs on a pan and the birds chirping outside. Asa set their plates down and put the jam between them. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, thanks, angel," Replied Anthony. He smeared a frankly gluttonous amount of jam on one piece of toast and then smushed the other on top of it, making a hard, pear flavored sandwich.
Asa cut up his egg. "I think I'm going to have to bite the bullet and buy a crossword book," He said.
"Why's that?"
"Blasted paper writers are getting lazy in their puzzle construction. Look at this- this laughable puzzle in the paper today."
Anthony glanced at it with an amused grin. "Imminent and Reincarnation? Huh. Seems like a statement, doesn't it? Imminent. Reincarnation. Maybe that'll connect to tomorrow's puzzle? Like a… A theme, or… Dunno. Is that something your puzzle blokes do?"
"Well…" Asa looked at the puzzle again. "I suppose they could use the words from today to connect to an overarching theme for tomorrow's puzzle, though I think it would be unfair to new readers of Sussex Journalism to sling them into a crossword that they would require the previous day's to solve," He said with agitation.
"Angel, I don't think they've had a new reader in a decade."
"Even so…"
Anthony chuckled at him, pushing his plate to the side and unfolding the rest of the paper to read. Asa busied himself by putting away their dishes and cracking open a couple windows. It was stuffy outside, but worse inside, and so he figured a breeze may help relieve part of the endless mugginess that plagued them. He joined Anthony as he moved to their living room, setting their television to play some instrumental music they could both agree on while Anthony played on his phone and Asa reread a few chapters of a book.
As the morning drifted lazily into the afternoon, Asa had at some point drifted off on the couch. Anthony had left him to work in the garden, and was still out when he woke up. He felt groggy and stiff, as he usually did after a nap. He rubbed his neck with a groan. Thankfully his neck was the only thing that was supremely uncomfortable as he set his book on the coffee table and stood up. The house smelled damp. More so than usual. A loud crash made Asa turn around to look outside. Thunder filled his ears and a flash of lightning disorientated him. Was Anthony inside?
"My dear?" He called, "Anthony?"
There came no response.
Alarmed even more as he glanced at the clock, he tugged his coat on, threw up the hood, and carefully treaded the mud quickly thickening in their yard. "Anthony!"
"Anthony, where are you!"
Another, close, bolt of lightning made him jump.
"Anthony!"
Finally, a reply. "Over here…!"
Asa rushed over to find his husband, impossibly muddied, on the ground, leaning against a tree.
"What— What on Earth are you doing out here? What happened? Are you alright?"
Anthony wiped water out of his eyes and motioned down to his ankle. Asa gasped and threw both of his hands over his mouth at the sight of the twisted appendage. He crouched down too quickly for his old joints, but paid no mind to the creaking protest of his knees. "Let's get you inside!" He said, helping support Anthony as they both stood up. He winced as Anthony cursed aloud in pain.
As carefully and slowly as possible, the men made their way inside. Asa sat Anthony down on the couch and rushed around the house to find things that might help him. Elevation. Shucking off his wet clothes. An ice pack. Pain relievers. Towel. Should he call an ambulance? Asa was no doctor, but the ankle appeared more than sprained to him, and he wasn't sure how they would get to a hospital with their car in the shop. He wiped mud off of Anthony gently. "Should I call someone?"
"Er… Yeah. Probably." Anthony replied, scowling.
"Right." Asa glanced around. "Um, my dear, where is your phone?"
Anthony felt his pockets. "Outside, probably. You can- You can wait until the storm blows over to go get it. Thing's probably soaked anyways."
Asa shot up. "No! No, I'll go fetch it now. Stay right there." He gave his husband a quick kiss and went back out into the storm. What a series of misfortune this was; Not only was it pouring rain, lightning crackling nearby every few seconds, not only was their car in the shop, not only was Anthony's phone outside, but Asa's cellphone had been left in their car when they dropped it off. Bugger. This wouldn't be a problem if Asa had remembered it. He found the spot where Anthony had been sitting and stooped down to investigate. It was dark, save for the flashes of lightning, which made him jump. His heart was in his ears as he dug around in the mud. Just when he was about to heed Anthony's advice to wait out the storm, his fingers found something cool and smooth. He clicked the screen on and it came to life. A smiling image of Asa and his husband, in the middle of a dramatic looking dip during their first dance at their wedding, filled the screen. He couldn't help but smile as well, despite himself. Relieved, he began dialing the emergency number as he made his way back over to the house.
And then, in a stroke of miraculous misfortune that was worse than any events that had transpired that afternoon, retired bookseller Asa Crowley-Fell was struck dead by a bolt of lightning.
The angel Aziraphale, who he had always been, stumbled back into a bookcase. He caught himself with one hand, knocking over a copy of Paradise Lost in the process, and whipped his head up to look around at his bookshop. Oh! His bookshop! How he had missed it. He bent to pick up the fallen volume, feeling flexible and light in a way that he hadn't felt in decades. He was discomforted by the sight of his hands for a reason he couldn't quite pinpoint. Still, the feeling was trumped easily by the relief and familiarity of his beloved bookshop. He slid the book into its proper place, looking over his other titles. This particular shelf bent under the weight of them all, its wood sagging and covered in a small layer of dust, as if it had not been tended to in a long time. It made sense. He had been too busy averting the Second Coming to tend to the shop. Or, no… That wasn't right. He had averted it before, hadn't he? Yes, last he remembered, himself and Crowley had been—
A loud crash made him jump and whirl around. Speak of the devil, as the humans say. He rushed forward and helped Crowley to his feet. "Anthony! You're… Um…" Aziraphale trailed off. Anthony, that's right. A human man. He realized the thing that made him uncomfortable looking at his hands was the lack of a wedding ring. He pulled his hands off of Crowley, who seemed quite frazzled. Aziraphale didn't blame him. He felt the same. He looked at Crowley's hands as he pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his coat and placed them on his nose. No ring, either. Had he dreamt it all? Were the last seventy years even real? Furthermore, if it was real, did Crowley remember? All the blood in Aziraphale's body felt like it was rushing past his ears and settling in his stomach in dread. He watched Crowley— because there was nothing else to do— and tried to sort through a quickly jumbling mess of human memories.
Crowley glanced around the bookshop, walking off in a couple of directions before spinning back around and shoving his hands in his pockets. The corners of his lips turned down into an expression Aziraphale knew as confusion. "We're… Here." He said.
"Yes, it would seem so," Aziraphale agreed.
Crowley flexed his jaw. Disdain, maybe, or a sort of bitterness that the angel hadn't seen on him in years surfaced. They had been happy, Aziraphale thought, as humans. At least, he thought so. The more he thought about it, the more it all slipped from his mind. Like… What did Crowley used to say? Water sliding off of a duck? He stiffened as Crowley pulled a hand from his pocket to point at him. "You called me Anthony," He said.
Aziraphale nodded.
"You remember? All that, before we were, here?" He asked. It sounded like he was having trouble saying it.
Aziraphale nodded again.
Crowley nodded in response.
The two stood there a while. Aziraphale couldn't tell if Crowley was happy to see him again or upset. True, as humans they were in love, and in this form they were… Getting there, but he knew he hadn't been very reciprocative of it for Crowley until it was too late. He felt hot. Itchy. Crowley was still. After so much time spent as humans, it was a bit uncanny to see his (former) husband so idle. Not even breathing. And all the lovely wrinkles, the gray hair, the slight crookedness to his posture, gone. He wondered if Crowley was looking at him so intently because he was thinking about the same things. If he was, well… Aziraphale didn't know what to do with himself. If they were in their cottage, happy from a life spent together, he might have asked Crowley directly what was wrong, or what he was thinking about. But this was not the human Anthony. This was the demon. The wily, tempting, lovely thing that Aziraphale was not supposed to love. The thing that God gave him just to take away. "Ah," Aziraphale turned and hurried over to the front entrance. He should have guessed from how dark it was in the bookshop, but they were, indeed, alone. For the time being, anyways, there was no God and no Satan. No Soho. Just the pitch dark expanse of Nothing outside the bookshop.
Aziraphale clasped his hands together in front of himself and turned around, thankful that Crowley had busied himself in pulling books off of the shelf. "Blank," the demon said, "as they were before."
"Oh dear…"
"Yup," He tossed an old volume over his shoulder and it landed in such a way that Aziraphale was sure its pages would be bent. If only to maintain an amount of normalcy, Aziraphale scolded him and picked it up, returning it to its spot. Crowley crossed his arms and leaned a hip against the bookshelf. Again, they looked at each other.
Aziraphale acknowledged the elephant in the room. "It seems to me like we are right where we were before God created the new universe."
Crowley nodded.
"And… It seems like, well for now anyways, that neither She nor your former boss are here."
"Suppose it does," Crowley replied, "But why? We were, I mean, we were perfectly fine living out as, as, uh…" He waved his hand. Aziraphale opened his mouth to fill him in, but couldn't think of his name. It was easy to remember Anthony, but another thing to remember himself. "… As humans. You know." Crowley finished.
"Yes! Yes, I— I quite agree," Aziraphale was glad to reply.
"I mean, we were happy. And old. And we didn't have to worry about all this nonsense. All this, blasted, book of life business. And God. Satan. Sides." Crowley continued, scowling as he made his way over to Aziraphale's desk chair and took a seat. Right, sides. Aziraphale had nearly forgotten. He felt cold as he followed Crowley and lingered near the desk.
"Y- Yes, you're right. I recall we were… Um… Happy, indeed." Said Aziraphale.
Crowley propped his elbow up on the desk, pulling his shades off and looking up at Aziraphale through his eyelashes. "We were… In… Love."
Love.
They had been in love. Yes. Wholly. As much as two humans could love each other, and yet nothing in comparison to how much love the angel had for the demon. After billions of years, it was unfair to compare such feelings as humans and themselves. Still, what he felt for the human Anthony was… Indescribable. Inimitable. There was something so vast, so all-encompassing, and yet so pure about human love that Aziraphale deeply felt the loss of. It was carefree. Their lives had been as such. Yes, they had problems, as did all humans. But it was nothing. Aziraphale would gladly trade out his smallest problems as an angel in exchange for his biggest problems as a human. Yet, Aziraphale did feel love for Crowley. He had for so long. But he'd never been allowed to say it. Or to revel in the feeling, even in private, for fear of what Heaven would think. What She would think. He tugged at his collar. "Right, well… Yes." He answered after a pause that was too long, "We… Are. In love, that is."
Crowley's eyebrows furrowed together. "Angel, you know I—"
That cursed bell chimed at the front of the bookshop. Aziraphale was beginning to feel something admittedly non-angelic about being interrupted so frequently. He spun around, and She was sitting in the same chair they had left her in.
"Angel," God said. It wasn't endearing, as when Crowley said it, but more so merely a fact. She was calling him what he was.
Aziraphale had to swallow his agitation. "My- My Lord…?"
"Did you enjoy humanity, Aziraphale?"
He looked back at Crowley, who was standing and far closer to him than before. He returned his attention to Her. "Well, yes. Of course. It's… Well, I think I can speak for Crowley as well when I say it is… All that we ever wanted."
Her mouth curled up into an amused smirk, and her eyes shined despite the dim lighting of the bookshop. "You always make me smile, Aziraphale."
The angel couldn't stop himself from reaching back and taking Crowley's hand. What now? Hadn't they gone through enough? He couldn't help but wonder if She was going to try to separate him from Crowley again. Although he didn't think they would have ever been allowed to exist as humans and they had, he didn't trust it. Now that they were back in the bookshop, back before the new universe. Or maybe after. Maybe the universe they had existed in had faded away in quite the same way as the old one, unbeknownst to the human Aziraphale and Anthony.
Crowley squeezed his hand. "What are we doing here?" He asked, displeasure evident in his tone.
The Lord's gaze moved between them, Her expression the same as it had been the day the universe had ended. She was all-knowing and took evident satisfaction in Her choices. Of course Aziraphale still trusted Her, even if he didn't trust any of his former coworkers, but that didn't stop him from feeling uneasy under Her scrutiny. There was something uncomfortable in being face-to-face with the being that created him. The being that had, at least a small hand, in every joyful moment and every despairing one too. He felt like a plaything. She replied just as his thoughts were trailing off. "You died, Aziraphale. Your human body."
Aziraphale had not been expecting this. The memory of a phone in his hands slipped from him the moment he recalled it. "I did?"
She nodded, "Yes. Though, it was not how I would have planned it. I kept my word, Angel, I did not interfere with this universe."
He thought about asking how he'd died, but decided that he didn't want the answer. Luckily, Crowley chimed in. "And I…?"
She smiled. "Anthony would have lived. Except, well, I'm afraid I could not separate you two. Not like that. Your silly predictability is something that I couldn't allow the universe to lose."
A pause.
"So, I have a new idea."
"Yes, my Lord…?"
"I will restore the universe to how it was before this one. Before you were humans. As much as I enjoyed watching Asa Fell and Anthony Crowley fade happily into retirement, it wasn't very satisfying, was it?"
Asa Fell, Aziraphale repeated in his mind. Yes, he was Asa. And he was so in love with Anthony. He would have been happy (and satisfied) to grow old and die with Anthony, wouldn't he?
She continued. "Of course, Aziraphale, you will have all the foresight to prevent the Archangel from erasing the universe, if you so choose," She said, before turning to the demon. "Crowley, you will not retain your memories."
"Uh, what?" Crowley asked, releasing Aziraphale's hand to step closer. "But we've, y'know, we're." He looked at Aziraphale helplessly. "We've gone through so much."
"Yes," She replied with a nod, "You have. But only one of you needs to know how to stop the Archangel. Besides that, I don't believe Aziraphale properly made up to you, did he?"
"Not as such, but—" Started Crowley.
"I was trying to—" Started Aziraphale at the same time.
They both looked at each other. Crowley took his hand again, tightly enough to hurt.
"How far back are you putting us?" Aziraphale asked.
The Lord glanced to the side for a moment, thinking. She decided promptly. "Shortly after you were instated as Supreme Archangel. That should give you ample time to figure out what to do, shouldn't it? Yes. Goodbye, Angel. I will be watching."
And then She was gone from the bookshop.
Aziraphale stared at the place She'd been sitting until Crowley whirled him around by the shoulders. His lips were drawn back in a scowl, and his eyes were glossy with tears, as Aziraphale had seen only a few times in their thousands of years together. "You don't think, uh, we'll have long, do you?" He asked. His fingers dug into Aziraphale's collarbone.
"I- I don't know, my dear."
Crowley made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a whine, causing Aziraphale's heart to give a squeeze. He felt sick. If they were being sent back to Aziraphale being instated as Supreme Archangel, then he could not correct his worse mistake; Rejecting Crowley.
"Crowley," Aziraphale said.
At the same time, Crowley started with "Angel," but cut himself off to let Aziraphale speak.
"I'm… I will make it up to you. What happened, the day I left for Heaven, it has haunted me every day. And She was right, I never made it up to you. I was so caught up in trying to fix things that I nearly destroyed us."
Crowley's lips thinned into a line and he took in a breath through his nose. Aziraphale peeled the demon's hands off of his shoulders to grasp at them. "I'm sorry," Aziraphale said desperately, "I'm sorry. I wish you could remember," He kept rambling, trying to fit everything he should have said into this moment. "I wish I hadn't been so afraid of my side, afraid to Fall, afraid to, at the very least, not be so insensitive, so stupid when you laid it all out for me the day I left.
"I should have left with you. I don't think we would have liked it, on Alpha Centauri, but we would have had each other. Though, now we know that would have been short-lived, and I certainly couldn't do it now, I should have then. I could have. Oh, Crowley, I was a proper fool. I still am. I don't know how I'm going to fix things if you won't remember this all. You'll be, well, taking care of my bookshop, apparently. What a mess…" Aziraphale trailed off. There was so much to be said. Thousands and thousands of years worth of apologies and confessions to be made, but none of them would be remembered by Crowley. He squeezed the demon's hands, and then hauled him into an embrace.
Crowley's arms locked around him, clinging to his coat hard enough Aziraphale wouldn't be surprised if the fabric tore. "'s fine, angel. I, ngk, don't want to forget either, of course. But you know me. And…" He stepped back. Aziraphale despised the loss he felt. "I hoped you'd come back. Always did."
Aziraphale nodded. He straightened Crowley's coat with trembling fingers. The demon let him. "I suppose I should save the rest of my confessions for later so that I don't have to go through the trouble of repeating them, hm?"
Crowley's expression was bittersweet. "Suppose so."
"I…" Aziraphale trailed off, hands falling to his sides. How long until they were sent back? Again, he felt like he was being toyed with. He swallowed the agitated lump in his throat. "I love you."
"I know, angel."