Chapter Text
wayfaring strangers and all kinds of danger
please don’t say i’m going alone
to the ends of the earth, would you follow me?
there’s a world that was meant for our eyes to see
The world. A strange place, really. Definitely not something an angel and a demon expected to become so fond of.
And they were so fond of it, they had somehow managed to save it from utter destruction. Actually, looking back on it, it seemed like they were mostly there for moral support. No matter, though, because they had, in fact, played an important role that day.
They were sort of in a limbo, now. No longer did they have the excuse of heaven or hell to stop them from staring and admiring. And although they were free, neither wanted to ruin everything they’d worked towards by pouring all their feelings out to the other. So, for the time being, they’re fine with lounging around the bookshop, walking at St. James’s, and eating obscenely expensive meals at obscenely expensive places. Mostly they’re just happy that time is still being.
Of course, time continues its ever-present marching as if nothing had happened. The people of the earth do too, choosing to ignore the fuzzy memories of an underwater city or a monster rising from the seabed. Crowley and Aziraphale, though, are not people. As the weeks stretch on, the resurfacing memories are as clear as they could be. The Ritz, the swap, the holy water and hellfire, and a shared “to the world”. Aziraphale recalls his discorporation, and how it was more annoying and inconvenient than anything. It had also felt good to stand up to literal Satan, flaming sword in hand and everything. Overall, he thinks that the end of days went about as well as it could possibly go.
Crowley, however, was not doing that well. He was starting to remember, starting to occasionally smell the burning parchment, the wooden furniture, even the fury. He had been ready to kill anyone and anything in that moment as the adrenaline coursed through his body’s veins. But then, the fury had faded and left in its wake a blinding sorrow. He remembers the firefighters that were initially screaming at him but had soon realized how bizarre the situation was, letting him go without another word. Later, they would ask each other if they’d all imagined the person that walked right into fire.
When he noticed that these thoughts couldn’t just be locked away like all his other painful memories, he knew that he was screwed. He kept thinking about the ache he had in his chest when he realized that the world ended right then and there for him. Armageddon didn’t matter anymore. He welcomed it, in fact. The world meant nothing to him if Aziraphale wasn’t there. He had been alone, and nothing had mattered anymore. Of course, things sort of turned out alright. The earth wasn’t obliterated, for one. Still, the thoughts about everything that had happened continuously sloshed around in his head and they’d been getting quite bothersome, he had to admit.
He’d briefly considered seeing a therapist about them before realizing that he would have to constantly use similes and metaphors to tell the whole story. That sounded like it’d be exhausting, so he banished the idea quickly. If he had any sense of logic, he would just talk to Aziraphale about it, but g- sa- somebody knows that he won’t. Of course he won’t. He didn’t want to dump his problems onto his angel, especially when his problems were about his angel. Rather un-demonic of him, but, then again, he’d never been a very good demon. Or rather, bad demon.
☾
Nearly a month after Armageddn’t and a day after Crowley realized that he, in fact, must deal with his emotions in some way, he held the door for Aziraphale and followed him into the bookshop. They’d spent most of their time there lately, and Crowley thought that he’d been doing a good job of ignoring the phantom heat he felt in the air. Today, he was just tired. He was tired, and he was sick of ignoring everything, and he didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. It had been getting harder and harder for him to lazily drape himself over the sofa in the office, and because he was so tired, he finally dropped the act, sitting down with his legs closed and his hands folded in his lap. His eyes traced a crack that ran through the wooden floorboards. He was just tired.
Of course, when Aziraphale returned with two wine glasses and a bottle, he noticed this change immediately. Damn it.
“What’s wrong, dear?” he set everything down on the desk and worriedly looked back at Crowley.
Crowley seemed startled, like he’d just been pulled back into the world from another plane of existence. “What?”
“Clearly there’s something bothering you, so I thought I’d ask.”
“Oh, oh yeah, fine. M’fine, just… lots on my mind,” he blew out a breath and stretched out his legs to their typical position.
Aziraphale sat down across from him. The look in his eye was the same look that had been seen by countless humans and supernatural entities alike- the look of concern. The Look™ if you will.
The demon felt called out by The Look. “What? Can we just get on with the wine?”
“Crowley, I do hope you know that you can tell me anything. Anything at all, especially now.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Aziraphale waited for a further response, and a few beats went by before Crowley blurted, “Y’know, I think I might see what therapy is all about. Like, the human kind. See why everyone is recommending it these days. Just to get an outsider’s opinion about… things.” He knew that actively seeking help was something he’d never really done before, but thinking that your friend has left you to fend on your own while the earth literally ended could change even the damnedest of hearts.
“Oh, good for you, dear,” said Aziraphale, not wanting to push it any further. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but Crowley had made his last statement seem rather conclusive. He poured a glass of wine and handed it to the demon sitting on his couch.
☾