Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aziraphale sang quietly to himself as he dusted the biographies. He liked a little dust for the aesthetic of it all but it had been getting a bit out of hand. He had sneezed coming down from upstairs the day prior. Truly, unacceptable.

The bell above the shop door tinkled and Aziraphale pushed away the usual rush of frustration he felt at the appearance of customers. This was a new world with no oncoming threat of Armageddon and he was trying new things. Perhaps being a real bookshop owner would be one of them.

With a final flourish, he set down his feather duster and walked out to greet the customer only to find— 

“Crowley?” he said, but it was a silly thing to say. He knew it was Crowley. It was only the shock of seeing his friend hunched over the table by the entrance, white as a sheet, that had him asking the question in the first place.

“Azi—”

Crowley coughed and lurched forward, falling onto his hands and knees. His glasses dropped onto his knuckles as Aziraphale rushed to his side. 

With another horrid cough, black ichor flowed from Crowley’s mouth but no, it wasn’t fluid, it was a stream of something alive and covered in scales. Aziraphale stumbled and fell back onto his hands. It looked like a snake pouring from Crowley’s mouth but that wasn’t what Crowley’s transformation looked like.

Just as he worked up the nerve to move closer, Crowley’s skin began to glow, the black thing still flowing from his mouth. The glow grew until it burned Aziraphale’s eyes and he was forced to cover his face lest it burn his retinas entirely.

The room filled with the sound of sharp exhale. It was so loud Aziraphale’s ears popped. Then the light disappeared all at once as silence descended around him.

Carefully, Aziraphale dropped his arm and peered tentatively through slitted eyes. 

Collapsed on the ground was a man. Well, not any man. Crowley. Or perhaps not Crowley. Except, he had the same face. The same large nose, the same cheekbones, the same long russet eyelashes. 

But besides that, almost everything was different. His red hair flowed down his back in curls and loose braids that reminded Aziraphale of fashions he hadn’t seen in millennia. And he was dressed in robes. White robes. Robes of the sort that Aziraphale had been assigned before he went down to Eden.

Crowley—or whoever—looked up at him and blinked. His eyes. They were the purest gold, but the pupils were round.

Aziraphale took an involuntary step backward as he reached out with his powers to sense Crowley’s demonic essence and found it gone from this corporation. Instead, he found— 

“Oh, thank heavens,” the other angel said, standing up. “I’m glad to see another angel. Can you tell me where I am?”

Aziraphale’s hand flew to his mouth. Now that the angel with Crowley’s face was standing it was clear that he was identical to the demon. That was Crowley’s corporation. Or at least an exact copy. Rake thin and too tall. 

“Crowley?” he asked again. Another stupid habit. He knew this wasn’t Crowley. It couldn’t be.

The angel cocked his head, his braids falling in front of his shoulder. “Crow-lee? Are you asking if that’s me?” He wrinkled his nose. “Doesn’t sound very angelic. No. I’m Cassiel.”

Aziraphale’s head spun. He uselessly wished he were closer to the wall so he could clutch at something.

A telltale tickle of demonic energy pricked along the back of Aziraphale’s neck and he stood up straight. Oh, goodness. Was this Hell’s work? His eyes were drawn to the source of the oncoming energy. Something dark and heavy slid out of the shadows, slithering. A snake. Aziraphale felt a rush of relief.

The serpent continued to wind between the bookshelves, all thirty feet of it coiling into the wide atrium. Aziraphale gasped. He hadn’t seen this particular serpent in thousands of years

The black scales along its side rippled like water. Aziraphale heard a gasp beside him but couldn’t pay attention to it. The serpent was transforming; it was becoming—

“I think you might be looking for me, angel,” Crowley said, leaning against the bookcase beneath the eastern wing of the bookstore.

Except this wasn’t Crowley either. Black scales lined either side of his face, running from his temples down the tendons of his neck and disappearing into his black shirt. He unfolded his arms and Aziraphale saw his fingers were black and scaled and tipped with claws.

“Don’t look so scared,” this Crowley said with a mocking pout. “We had a lunch date. Don’t you recall?”

A chair appeared behind Aziraphale just so he could collapse in it. He felt he deserved to waste a miracle. This was by far the most stressful thing that had happened since the thwarted apocalypse and a miracled chair was the least of his worries.

He looked between the two Crowleys. Or rather Crowley and Cassiel who was regarding the new Crowley with open shock.

“Who is this?” he asked, hand pressed to his chest. Crowley bared his teeth—oh dear, there were some fangs which did not make Aziraphale’s knees feel a little weak whatsoever—and said nothing.

“I think one of you needs to explain yourselves,” Aziraphale said. Crowley rolled his eyes as Cassiel nodded fervently.

“I gather you know who I am,” Aziraphale said with a sharp look at the demon.

“Yes, Aziraphale, of course I know who you are. We went to the fucking Ritz yesterday," Crowley said with a sneer. “Now can you get rid of my sniveling angel half or do I have to do it myself?”

Crowley pushed off the bookshelf and Aziraphale surged to his feet so he could insert himself in between him and Cassiel. 

Cassiel peered around him. “Wait, are you me?” he asked. He dragged his eyes over Crowley and frowned. “You don’t seem like an angel.”

“I’m not one,” Crowley spat. “Haven’t been for six thousand years or so. Don’t want to be one again so bugger off.”

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s arm to calm him but it seemed to have the opposite effect. He wrenched it out of his grasp with an audible hiss.

“What happened?” Aziraphale asked, pushing aside the very strong urge to snap at the demon. Something very very strange was going on and getting into a row was hardly the route to fixing it. 

Crowley glanced off, jaw twitching. “I was—I got my hands on something occult. It might have...backfired. I think I got split in half. Or something. Doesn't matter. Let's go.”

Aziraphale scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’m going to need more details than that, my dear.”

With very little warning, a sharp-nailed hand fisted in his shirt and he was yanked close to Crowley’s face. This version of Crowley radiated the sort of demonic energy that had Aziraphale’s skin tingling, the taste of pennies rollicking in his mouth.

“I’m not your dear, ” Crowley hissed before shoving him back.

Cassiel was by his side in an instant, smoothing his rumpled shirt with a delicate hand. Aziraphale’s skin heated under the careful touch.

“Don’t treat him like that,” Cassiel said to Crowley. “He’s trying to help.”

Crowley hissed at him too. “Shove off, you angelic prick.”

Cassiel gave Crowley a look so cold it should have frozen him to the spot. “I may not remember you but I think I am you, yeah? So, trust me when I say I’m acting in both our best interest. Aziraphale wants to help. I can feel it.”

With that, Cassiel pressed a hand to his chest and met Aziraphale's eyes. Oh. Perhaps Aziraphale needed to rein in some of his softer feelings.

Crowley frowned deep enough that Aziraphale half-expected his jaw to unhinge to accommodate the expression.

“It is Aziraphale, right? I heard him right?” Cassiel asked him, drawing Aziraphale’s attention.

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said hurriedly. “Apologies. Aziraphale, principality. Well, former principality I suppose.”

Cassiel shook his hand and they both ignored the indignant hissing that came from Crowley beside them. 

“It sounds like you have some questions for...Crowley,” Cassiel said, Crowley’s name sounding a bit uncomfortable in his mouth. “But would you mind explaining where I am? The last thing I remember is meeting with Lucifer to discuss issues with God’s new humanity project.”

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped and Crowley groaned. 

“Ah, fuuuuuuuck.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said sharply and thankfully Crowley shut up. “Cassiel, you are on Earth. Part of the humanity project as you say. I think there’s a great deal for us to talk about but first I’d like Crowley to give me some more details about this occult object he very unwisely got mixed up in.”

“Fine, but don’t be a dick about it.”

Aziraphale ignored him. “How about some tea? Difficult conversations are much easier with a cup of tea.”

“What’s tea?” Cassiel asked.

Aziraphale brightened and took Cassiel’s arm to lead him to the settee in the little reading nook. “Oh, my dear fellow, you are in for a treat.”

Crowley grumbled behind them. Something that sounded distinctly like, “I hate you so fucking much.”

This was going to be exhausting.

Chapter Text

When Aziraphale returned with three precariously balanced cups of tea it was to find Crowley sprawled over the settee, staring daggers at Cassiel who stood awkwardly to the side.

"Crowley," Aziraphale admonished. "Make room for your...for Cassiel."

Crowley wrinkled his nose. His tongue flickered out of the side of his mouth in a way Aziraphale could only describe as bitchy. "This is my couch. Don’t want his angel arse getting it all holy."

Aziraphale sighed and handed Cassiel his cup of tea. The angel peered into the liquid with obvious curiosity.

"Is this the tea beverage?" Cassiel asked, sniffing the steam.

"Yes," Aziraphale said kindly. "You may want to wait for a moment and let it cool. It can burn your mouth if you drink too fast."

Crowley made a disgruntled noise and rearranged himself on the sofa with what Aziraphale deemed to be a bit too much drama, ultimately making room for Cassiel. "Where’s my tea beverage, Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale thrust Crowley's mug at him. There really was no reason for Crowley’s behavior. "I presume you take it the normal way and your taste buds haven’t suddenly changed."

Crowley snatched the mug with no consideration for the hot liquid. Apparently, it didn't matter because when it spilled over the sides and onto his scaled fingers, he didn't react.

"Have a seat, Cassiel," Aziraphale said, taking his typical seat in the desk chair.

Cassiel lowered himself gingerly onto the sofa just as Crowley curled as far away as physically possible. Ridiculous. Cassiel wasn’t contagious.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said with as much authority as he could muster. The demon turned his gaze to him as if he didn’t care whatsoever what Aziraphale had to say. "Tell me what sort of nonsense caused this."

Crowley rolled his eyes but at least he started to speak.

"I'd been looking for something to complete a ritual," Crowley began. He slurped loudly at his tea. A noise he knew drove Aziraphale up the wall. "I wanted to see if I could put together a protection spell. Something to hide us from Head Office. In case they came snooping around."

Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat. Of course Crowley was up to dangerous business trying to protect them. Foolish demon. Beloved demon. Even when he was being a cantankerous, rude arse, Aziraphale loved him deeply. He wished he could cross the short distance between them, perhaps take his hand, kiss him. But they didn’t do that.

Cassiel coughed loudly causing Aziraphale to start in his chair.

"Sorry, sorry," Cassiel said, clearing his throat. "Wrong pipe."

Aziraphale fought valiantly against his rising blush.

"Like I was saying, " Crowley continued, glaring at Cassiel over the interruption. "I got my hands on this box, and maybe was fiddling with it. It opened up and I got a faceful of something and it was all itchy. Like being dipped in poison ivy. I came here cuz I thought you could help me. That’s it. But I don't need your help now. Whatever that thing was sucked this insipid bitch out of me so I can go on my way."

Except Crowley didn’t get up and go. He just sat there, slurping at his tea.

Aziraphale looked at Cassiel. "And you don't remember any of this?"

Cassiel shook his head. It made his braids move like shifting copper water and Aziraphale was forcibly reminded of the first time he and Crowley shared a drink. Right before the flood. Aziraphale had noticed his hair then too. Such a lovely color.

"Aziraphale," Cassiel said, sounding a bit choked. "Can you, uh, turn that down?"

Aziraphale blushed and did his best to stuff away his feelings. He'd gotten too comfortable. There was no one around to sense them normally.

Cassiel sighed with relief. "Sorry, it's sort of like being blasted with a waterfall. You really do lo—"

"Yes!" Aziraphale squeaked, setting down his tea. "Crowley, why are you so certain that the object split you and Cassiel isn’t pulled forward from the past?”

Crowley gave him a flat look. “I think I know what it feels like to have my essence sucked out, angel. That’s me,” he said with a jabbed finger in Cassiel’s direction. “Old me. Pre-fall me but me.”

“And I suppose that leaves you with all of Crowley’s demonic traits,” Aziraphale murmured, mostly to himself.

“Oi!” Crowley said. “I am Crowley!”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” Aziraphale said, trying to piece together exactly what was going on. There was no conceivable way Crowley could stay with part of essence sucked out, essentially split in half. Not only was it unnatural but it Aziraphale couldn’t bear the thought of his Crowley, gone from the world to be replaced by these disparate halves.

He took a deep breath and tried to be diplomatic.

“Crowley, it would be a good idea to retrieve this object. I can try to track down some more information and perhaps we can go about reversing the effects."

"Reversing the effects?" Crowley said, sitting up straight. "I don't want to reverse the effects. I don't want that thing back inside me."

"Excuse me?" Cassiel said. For the first time, he actually looked offended by something Crowley was saying. It made him look more like the Crowley Aziraphale knew. "If one of us is a thing, I think that might be you. I'm not covered in scales and fangs."

Crowley bared said fangs and rose to his feet. "I exist because of choices you made so you can fuck right off. Without you inside me, I can be a demon in peace. None of those stupid memories of heaven stuck in my head."

Oh. Aziraphale’s heart twisted in his chest. This demon version Crowley might feel that way but he didn’t think his Crowley would give up his memories of heaven for anything. They were a part of him.

Crowley's scales had started to spread, covering his throat and chest. Aziraphale stood, hands out. "Crowley, I think you may want to calm down."

"Calm down?" Crowley spat. "Fuck you and the fucking holy steed you came in on. I don’t need to listen to this!"

And Crowley collapsed into a pile of coils and scales, hissing angrily.

Cassiel looked down. "Oh."

Crowley disappeared into the bookshop, leaving Aziraphale with a confused angel who looked just like his best friend but remembered nothing about it.

“So I really...turn into that?” Cassiel asked, gesturing vaguely in Crowley's direction. An angry hiss filled the bookshop.

“It’s complicated,” Aziraphale said. “Perhaps we better go to Crowley’s flat and look in on this object you— he— that’s caused this fuss.”

“Are you sure we should leave him here?” Cassiel peered into the shadows, but there was nothing to see.

“I think Crowley knows I will be very cross with him if he does anything to harm my books,” Aziraphale said at a loud volume.

The hissing rose in pitch and then cut out. Aziraphale sighed.

“Come along, Cassiel,” Aziraphale said, taking the angel’s arm. “Best get a wiggle on.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and they were both in Crowley’s flat, the dim concrete walls unwelcoming as ever.

Aziraphale passed through the lounge and into Crowley’s office. That was the most likely location for any nefarious doings. Sure enough, Crowley had set up a small table covered in books and tools. In the middle of the thing was a box, cracked in half, and oddly looking like it was steaming.

“I don’t know if we should touch that,” Cassiel said.

“I find I rather agree,” Aziraphale said but he did circle closer, noting what looked like broken runes along the split sides.

"So…" Cassiel began, trailing behind him. "You and Crowley."

Aziraphale froze. "Is that a question?"

"Not really," Cassiel said, a bit of a grin overtaking his face. For a moment, he looked so much like Aziraphale’s Crowley that his heart skipped a beat.

Cassiel whooped. "See! There! You can barely control it. All that love. S'not even like heavenly love. It's...I can't even describe it. How did it happen?"

Aziraphale looked away and wrung his hands. It wasn't that he couldn't explain it was just that it was very difficult to explain it to someone who had Crowley's face. When he didn’t respond immediately, Crowley continued, “If it helps, he’s definitely jealous."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Hardly. He's just being difficult."

"Oh no," Cassiel said. "We might be extremely different but that's jealousy. A lot of it. He's cranky you're taking care of me instead of him because he's hurting too."

Guilt settled cold and harsh in Aziraphale’s belly. He knew that and yet he’d brushed that aside. Why? Because he was afraid. He was always afraid. Afraid to show affection for fear of being found out, for fear of being rebuffed. But when had Crowley ever done anything except patiently hold out his hand and wait for him to take it?

Cassiel shrugged. “I’m sort of guessing but I mean...he is me.”

Aziraphale frowned. He wondered what Crowley was up to back at the bookshop. Probably feeling sorry for himself.

“Speaking of,” Cassiel ventured. “Would you mind explaining how exactly I end up as him?”

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said. He cast a final look at the strange black box and herded Cassiel back into the lounge. “You may want to be sitting down for this.”

Cassiel let out a long breath and leaned back against the sofa. “Really? Falling? Me?”

Aziraphale bit his lip and nodded.

“So it’s not just an empty archangel threat? Thou shalt be cast out and all?”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“Hoooo-eee,” Cassiel said on a long breath.

Aziraphale nodded.

“But then I met you, I guess,” Cassiel said with a vague gesture of his hand towards Aziraphale. “And fell in love so it can’t be all bad. I always thought that sounded nice. Some of the angels talked about it, you know. Romantic love. They said it was a myth. I’m glad to know it's not.”

“Well, I…” Aziraphale spluttered, not knowing where to start with that. Crowley might be jealous of Cassiel but in love, that was a bridge too far. Aziraphale’s feelings notwithstanding, he was certain Crowley didn’t feel the same way. Crowley cared for him. He knew that. But romantic love? “I’m not sure—I think Crowley would say he doesn’t regret falling but I don’t think it has anything to do with me.”

Cassiel snorted. “Maybe not but s’like…s’like a good addition. A little something extra.”

“Like icing on a cake,” Aziraphale said.

“What’s cake?”

Aziraphale turned his whole body to face the other angel. “I believe I have a whole world to show you.”

They carefully packed up the steaming artifact that Crowley had left behind in his study and after a few false starts, Aziraphale managed to convince Cassiel to change into some of Crowley’s clothes.

“The robes really will draw attention to you, my dear.”

Cassiel had touched the clothes in Crowley’s closet with a frown. “But they’re all so...dark. It doesn’t feel right.”

With a sigh, Aziraphale had selected a few items and with a touch of power, turned them from black and red to white and gold. Cassiel’s delighted expression was entirely worth it.

It turned out tight trousers looked good on any of Crowley’s forms. And unlike Crowley, Cassiel noticed as soon as Aziraphale’s heart started to kick up a fuss.

“Really?” he asked, tugging on the white blazer so that it hung just right over his shoulders. “The outfit?”

“You look nice!” Aziraphale said defensively.

Cassiel tossed his long hair over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Your love is very loud. I don’t know how Crowley hasn’t noticed it.”

“I don’t think demons can sense love,” Aziraphale said as they left Crowley’s building. He was going to take Cassiel to the delightful patisserie down the block which was perfectly on the way back to his shop. He’d also pick up something for Crowley who he hoped had even a little bit of the same tastes as his whole self. But who knew? Perhaps this fully demonic Crowley preferred blood cakes and the tears of children.

Aziraphale admonished himself for being dramatic.

Cassiel fell into step beside him. “Hm. That’s strange. I can certainly feel his love. It’s quieter than yours.”

Aziraphale tripped on a crack in the sidewalk. “Excuse me? You certainly cannot feel his love. He doesn’t feel any! Or at least not that I can sense. I’ve tried! It all just feels...it feels the same as it always has. Like Crowley.”

Cassiel put a steadying hand on his arm and they ended up walking like that, arms looped together. “Have you considered it feels like Crowley because Crowley feels like love? It certainly feels like love to me. I’d have difficulty explaining it but it’s very…” Cassiel smacked his lips together and wrinkled his nose. “Sticky maybe?”

Aziraphale hummed noncommittally and tried not to think about Crowley loving him. Loving Aziraphale the same way Aziraphale loved him. It hardly seemed possible.

Aziraphale shook himself out of his thoughts. There were other problems to attend to but first, cake.

He held open the door to the bakery and enjoyed the sight of Cassiel drifting inside, eyes wide as gold coins, an astounded look gracing his handsome face.

“This smells amazing.”

"That, my dear boy, is the cake."

The bell above the door tinkled as they pushed inside. Aziraphale immediately deposited the bag containing the nefarious box onto the worktop by the till.

"Now, why don't we settle in for a tipple and some of that lovely cake?" he said, already bustling to the back room. "We can brainstorm solutions to this issue we have.”

"Tipple," Cassiel muttered to himself as he disappeared into the reading nook.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale called, expecting the serpent to make an appearance at any moment. "We are going to get drunk and there is cake."

A thud drew Aziraphale’s attention. Crowley slithered down the spiral staircase, tongue flickering out wildly. By the time he was at the bottom he was on two feet.

Cassiel was very handsome. He had Crowley's face. Of course he was handsome. But here was Crowley with his serpentine eyes and even with the scales and the claws, this was the Crowley Aziraphale knew. The Crowley that made his heart race.

"Why’s the prick here?"

"Cassiel?" Aziraphale asked. "I wasn't going to leave him alone."

"Why not?" Crowley demanded. "You left me here"

"Yes well, you remember the last six thousand years and Cassiel doesn't know what cake is."

Crowley stuck out his tongue. And it was so unbearably childish and Aziraphale shouldn't have wanted to kiss him but he did.

"I bought you the tiramisu you like from the bakery by your flat," Aziraphale sniffed. "I thought you could use a little treat. It's been a hard day for all of us but I think especially for you."

Thinking about Cassiel’s words, Aziraphale clasped his hand around Crowley’s forearm in a gentle squeeze.

But Crowley just jerked away. "What do you mean? Especially for me? Because I'm a monster now? Because you can't stand me?"

"What?" Aziraphale said, taking an involuntary step back. "That's not true."

"Then why’d you take the first chance you got to fuck off with Mr. Holy over there?” Crowley asked, throwing out an angry gesture in the direction of Cassiel. His arm shook. His whole body was shaking. “That's probably who you wish I was, isn't it?"

Unable to think of anything else to do, Aziraphale rushed forward and pulled him into a hug. The first hug they had shared in six thousand years.

"I want you to be exactly you, Crowley. Which is why I want to fix this. He’s you as much as you’re you."

Crowley made some disgruntled hissing noises but didn't push him off. He also didn’t hug him back.

"You said there was cake?" he asked when Aziraphale finally released him. "And booze?"

"I'm getting the booze. What sort do you think Cassiel would like?"

Crowley bared his teeth and looked about to snap and then seemed to consider it. "Something sweet," he grumbled. “I always...I liked sweet things.”

Aziraphale beamed at him and, feeling overwhelmed and generally in high spirits, pressed a kiss to his cheek. The scales there were smooth and cool beneath his lips and Aziraphale had the oddest urge to kiss every inch of them.

He withdrew quickly, cheeks heating. Crowley gave him an odd look, even harder to read with his harsher, more demonic features. Aziraphales heart beat wildly in his chest.

"Aziraphale!"

They both jumped.

Cassiel appeared from behind a bookshelf. "If you don't get that under control, you're going to make me sick up."

Crowley looked between Cassiel and Aziraphale and his scowl returned, stormy and growing stormier. Aziraphale snatched his hand before he could stomp off. His pulse hammered in his wrist as Crowley met his eyes, an accusatory look on his face.

"I do think if we just sit down and chat, we can get this figured out," Aziraphale said and he attempted to squeeze Crowley's hand supportively, except Crowley’s hand wasn't there. Aziraphale looked between them and where Crowley’s hand should have been there was nothing but a ghostly outline of his fingers.

Crowley swore and held up his arm to the light. From his elbow down his arm looked faded, like a photo left in the sun.

Aziraphale blinked and reality snapped back into place. Crowley wiggled his now corporeal fingers and looked back at him with wide eyes.

"That’s not good," Cassiel said.

"No," Aziraphale agreed as dread settled in his stomach. "It most certainly is not."

Chapter Text

"I really am sorry to call out of the blue but it's a bit of an emergency," Aziraphale said, balefully watching as Crowley sat with his arms crossed, a deep scowl on his face. All Cassiel was doing was enjoying his cake. Crowley needn't act as if he killed his puppy. Resurrected his puppy? Whichever would upset a demon more.

"It's alright," Anathema said through the phone. "I gave you this number for a reason. What’s up?"

Crowley ripped out a cork from one of the bottles of wine and drank deeply. He seemed all in one piece. What if that moment of disappearance had just been a trick of the light?"

Better safe than sorry, Aziraphale reasoned.

"Crowley and I have run into an...I suppose you’d call it an artifact. Occult in origin. I was hoping I might rely on your expertise."

Anathema made a noise of excitement. "What sort of artifact?"

"It might be best if I brought it to you. I'm afraid an explanation may not do it justice. Would it be alright if I stopped by tomorrow morning?"

"Of course!" Anathema said, sounding genuinely pleased. Perhaps Aziraphale should have called sooner simply to socialize. "I’m happy to help."

"Oi, is that my shirt?" Crowley hissed and Aziraphale hung up with a hurried goodbye, turning to face the two parts of Crowley who seemed determined to not get along.

Cassiel swallowed the bite of cake in his mouth and sucked on his teeth in a way that Aziraphale thought was most likely purposefully agitating.

"What of it?" Cassiel asked innocently. Then he started to lick his fork in a manner that Aziraphale might have termed salacious if he weren’t describing an angel.

Crowley sat forward in his seat, wine bottle dangling between his spread knees. "What happened to your robe?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Cassiel shrugged and popped another bite of cake in his mouth. "Aziraphale got rid of it."

Aziraphale gawped at him. The utter implication! Crowley made a noise, a strange hissing growl as he turned accusing eyes on Aziraphale.

Cassiel stood abruptly. "You know, I'm going to get some water from that kitchen room you showed me. Yum yum delicious water."

Crowley didn't even spare him a glance as he left, too busy glaring at Aziraphale.

"So that's what it takes huh…"

He took a drink from the bottle, the growl in his chest fading. "Did you shag him in my bed or was it the couch? Maybe in the kitchen? Or wait, in the loo of the bakery? Always knew the cakes got you hot and bothered."

Aziraphale’s face flamed. "Crowley!"

Crowley slithered off the couch, sliding to his feet and sauntering to where Aziraphale stood frozen by the telephone. "I’m dying to know," he began, voice low as he circled closer, "what finally got you on your knees."

Aziraphale stumbled back, colliding with the bookshelf behind him. Crowley took the opportunity to slide closer and cup his hand around the base of Aziraphale’s throat. The back of Crowley’s thumb passed over Aziraphale’s skin and his pulse hammered under the touch of the cool scales, the sharp talon.

"That's not what happened," Aziraphale stammered. His tongue grew heavy in his mouth. "He—we were going out in public and he needed clothes."

"So you gave him mine," Crowley said, so close his words tickled Aziraphale’s ear. "Played dress up, did we?"

Crowley's lips ghosted over the corner of his jaw, so light he could have imagined it but no, the heat was very real except…

Aziraphale planted his hands on Crowley's chest and shoved him back. "Crowley! Stop this instant. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but Cassiel and I certainly didn't do...whatever you're implying and if you're trying to—to seduce me I think you're going to regret your behavior when we get this all figured out and you're back to your normal self."

Crowley slammed his hand against the nearest bookshelf hard enough to shake several volumes loose. "I don't want to go back to my normal self!"

"That's not true," Aziraphale pleaded. "You were happy. We were happy."

Crowley growled and advanced on him again, all semblance of seduction gone. "No. I don't get to be happy. I get to exist.”

Aziraphale tried to take his hand, an attempt at comfort, but Crowley yanked it away.

"Don't. I'm not for you to pity," he spat. "Go dote on Cassiel. He seems to like it. I’m going home."

Aziraphale reached to stop him as Crowley turned on his heel to march out of the bookshop. He grabbed for the door, but his hand passed through it. He growled and tried again.

"Fuck," he shouted as he kicked the door. The bell tinkled merrily in response.

Crowley's whole arm was faded now, ghostly and impossible to see at certain angles.

"I don't think you should leave," Aziraphale said, the fear and dread from before returning. "And I think we need to go to Tadfield now."

"Well, this is fun," Cassiel said brightly from the back seat as Aziraphale drove them to Tadfield. Crowley had nearly had an apoplexy when Aziraphale had taken the keys, but eventually he saw reason. After all, he couldn't drive if his hands disappeared. Or his feet.

"Shut up," Crowley grumbled, curling tighter in on himself as he glared out the window. He’d shoved a spare pair of sunglasses on his face the minute they got in the car. It did very little to hide his demonic traits but if it made him feel better, Aziraphale wasn't going to point that out.

"Do all cars go this fast?" Cassiel asked, plastering himself to the window behind Aziraphale and watching the scenery flash by.

"It's hardly fast," Crowley snapped. "Aziraphale wouldn't know fast if it bit him in the bollocks."

Aziraphale gave him an unimpressed look and if the situation weren't quite so dire, he would have certainly slowed down even further. As it was, he was already going five over the speed limit. If Crowley were here, he would have been impressed. Though Aziraphale supposed Crowley was there. Just not the right Crowley.

Cassiel seemed happy to ignore Crowley. Thank goodness for small miracles. "Soooooo we’re visiting your friend and she might know about the box?"

"She's something of an occult specialist," Aziraphale explained. Crowley sullenly fiddled with the lock of the door like a small child not getting attention.

"Anathema is a lovely, smart girl, isn't she, Crowley," Aziraphale said pointedly, trying to include him and get him to stop his incessant clicking of the lock.

Crowley frowned, barely looking at him. "Witch."

"That's a bit reductive."

Crowley grunted and continued to fiddle with the door. Frustrated and quite heartsore, Aziraphale risked taking a hand off the wheel so he could snatch one of Crowley’s, tangling their fingers together. It seemed to be the only expression of support he occasionally allowed.

Aziraphale squeezed his hand lightly. "We will figure this out."

When Crowley glanced at him and the tiniest smile appeared on his face, Aziraphale thought he might crash the car. His heart thundered against his ribs as he clutched at Crowley's hand and tried to focus on staying on the road.

Cassiel groaned. "For fuck’s sake."

"Cassiel!" Aziraphale admonished.

"What?"

"Language! You are an angel."

"Oi! You said I fell so what's the point? Not a very good angel apparently and, the way the two of you are carrying on, a pit of sulphur is starting to look pretty good."

Aziraphale decided to ignore that comment. "I have no idea where you learned that sort of language."

"I heard Crowley say it," Cassiel said easily.

Crowley snickered and Aziraphale pulled off onto the road that headed to Tadfield.

"Aziraphale!" Anathema said with honest surprise when she opened the door to the three of them.

"I'm sorry, dear girl. It turned out the issue was rather more urgent than we realized," he said.

She waved off his apology and ushered him inside. "It's fine. And it's good to see you and you as well, Crow-WOAH."

Crowley hissed when Anathema stumbled back and covered her mouth with her hand at the sight of him. He did look rather frightening. Scales and fangs and whatnot.

"Yes, that's what we wanted to discuss," Aziraphale said, tugging Crowley inside.

Cassiel trailed after them, looking around the small cottage with obvious interest. "This is cute."

"Um. Who is that?"

"Well…" Aziraphale hesitated. "Perhaps we could discuss it over a cup of tea."

"I do like the tea beverage," Cassiel said, smiling at Anathema.

Anathema blinked and pushed her glasses up her nose. "Right. Let me just...let me just get Newt."

"So it's like a transporter accident," Newt said with a nod of understanding when Aziraphale finally finished explaining.

Anathema was busy poking at the semi-demolished box on the dining room table behind them while Crowley perched on the back of the sofa and Cassiel sat politely in the armchair sipping at his tea.

Aziraphale frowned. "Pardon?"

"You know. In Star Trek."

"I'm afraid I don't."

"Actually,'' Crowley said, sliding down the back off the couch to land on the seat cushion beside Aziraphale. "The boy has a point. Transporters did shite like this all the time."

Aziraphale pursed his lips and tried to give Crowley a reproving look but knew he failed. The demon's knee was pressed against his, warm and somehow comforting even if Crowley was about as comforting as a feral cat at the moment.

"Alright, well, if these transponders—"

"Transporters," Crowley and Newt corrected together.

"—have done this, how was it fixed?"

Newt and Crowley exchanged a look.

"Uh," Newt said as he pushed up his glasses and wrinkled his nose. "I think just by going back through the transporter in a different setting."

"That's not very helpful," Aziraphale said and he wasn't sure if he imagined it, but Crowley's knee pressed against his. Supportively.

"Aha!" Anathema cried behind them. Aziraphale shot to his feet and turned to look at her. She held a flathead screwdriver in one hand, and it looked like she was using it to prod at the sides of the box.

"Did you— do you know what it does?"

Anathema glanced at him, blinking owlishly as if she'd forgotten he was there. "Um...no. But the writing is elder futhark which limits what I'll need to look for."

Aziraphale’s heart fell. He'd hoped she would have an easy answer.

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'll start researching right away, Aziraphale and I'll call you as soon as I find anything."

"Stupid waste of a trip," Crowley grumbled.

Aziraphale turned to chastise him only to see a large portion of his torso had faded. Anathema gasped.

“So that’s what you meant by fading,” she said, standing quickly enough that her chair teetered behind her.

“Great bollocksing fuck.” Crowley shoved his own hand into the space where his torso should have been. “Why can’t angel-arse Marty McFly himself into non-existence?”

Cassiel made an indignant noise. “I don't know what a Marty McFly is but based on your tone that doesn't sound very nice.”

Anathema put her hands on Crowley’s shoulders to inspect the damage only to have him slap them away just as his torso resolidified.

She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d say it’s not affecting Cassiel because he’s the real Crowley.”

“What?” Aziraphale asked.

Anathema smoothed her hand over her hair and sighed. “This Crowley—Cassiel.” She gestured at Cassiel. “He’s Crowley. Original Crowley. Crowley before anything happened to change him. This,” she waved her hand at the Crowley in front of her, “would be the rest of him. Without Cassiel, he’s just...extraneous.”

Crowley surged to his feet, teeth bared, that low hiss from before radiating from his chest. Aziraphale stood and tried to grasp his arm, wishing Anathema had a modicum of tact.

“You’re fucking extraneous,” Crowley snapped as the scales that covered his temples and neck flooded his face. He rushed from the cottage, Aziraphale hot on his heels.

“Poor choice of words I think,” Cassiel said as Aziraphale left the room.

Aziraphale found Crowley slumped against the Bentley, a strange reenactment of all the times he’d found Crowley waiting for him in the past. He was smoking a cigarette, something Aziraphale hadn’t seen him do since the 60s.

“What the fuck do you want?” Crowley asked, voice entirely flat.

“To make sure you’re alright,” Aziraphale replied.

Crowley grunted and took another drag from the cigarette, blowing it out into the darkening evening sky. With his sunglasses, he looked almost like Aziraphale’s Crowley, the real Crowley. Aziraphale missed him so.

“Guess you’ll get him then,” Crowley said finally. He tapped his fingers on the door of the car behind him.

“Pardon?”

“Him without me,” Crowley said wryly. He took another drag from the cigarette and then tossed it to the ground to smash it beneath his red-heeled boot. “Better version of Crowley. The original,” he said, overenunciating the word. “Untainted. S’what you want, innit?”

“What I want," Aziraphale snapped, tired of Crowley's assumptions and moods and behavior. "Is Crowley back. You and him and everything you are because that's my best friend and I'm tired of you acting like I've ever been anything other than appreciative of you, exactly as you are."

Faster than Aziraphale could blink, Crowley had him pressed back against the door of the car.

"Let’s give you the play by play, shall we? We started out the same, Crowley but you are fallen,” Crowley sneered. “Or should we run over every time you've said you know beneath it all, you really are a good person."

Aziraphale’s heart raced as Crowley pressed closer, not the first time Crowley had lost his temper like this in their acquaintance or even today. Words fled. He caught the scent of smoke and matches, and his knees went weak.

"The friendship you want, Aziraphale, is with some made up version of Crowley. I'm a demon," he hissed, that lit match smell rising in waves of sulphur and brimstone. "And you want to forget that every turn."

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak and couldn't.

Crowley pulled away and lit another cigarette. "Well, lucky you. Now you can have what you want."

Aziraphale choked out something that wasn't a word. How often had he said those things to Crowley? Pointed out their differences to put distance between them? But it hadn't been true. He loved Crowley. All of him, sharp edges, tendencies to drown ducks and terrify pedestrians as much as the Crowley who replaced dropped ice cream for children and saved Aziraphale from discorporation. Crowley did not need to be good for Aziraphale to love him. He needed to be Crowley.

And Aziraphale needed to tell him.

"Pip pip, lads," Cassiel said, trotting down the walk. "The witch says she'll call us tomorrow with an update."

Crowley grunted and stepped away from the Bentley, allowing Cassiel to climb into the backseat.

The minute the passenger door closed, Crowley collapsed into snake form, curling up on himself best he could.

The whole ride home his tail faded in and out.

Chapter Text

After some arguing, Crowley had acquiesced to staying in the bookshop overnight, curling in the dark in serpent form while Cassiel read an encyclopedia and periodically announced whatever he found interesting. Which had left Aziraphale to spend his evening worrying. And worry he did.

Anathema finally called at 1 AM.

“I figured out what it is,” she said in a rush when Aziraphale picked up the phone.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Aziraphale breathed, some of the tension in his stomach releasing.

“It’s a sex toy.”

Aziraphale blinked, as if that would correct his hearing.

“I don’t know what Crowley was trying to do with it, but this is definitely a sex toy. It was used to...I guess you’d say ‘have monogamous threesomes’? I have a book about occult sex toys. There are so many, Aziraphale. Literally so many. If you ever find an occult object and you’re not sure what it does, like seventy five percent of the time? Sex toy.”

Aziraphale sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, if I’m understanding correctly, the box is meant to create copies of a single person for...recreational purposes.”

“Sexual purposes,” Anathema corrected.

“Goodness gracious,” Aziraphale said and, for the second time in twenty four hours, miracled a chair to collapse into.

“I think it should work the same way though.”

“What should?”

“Ending the spell,” Anathema said plainly. “It seems all you have to do is kiss the primary clone which in your case should be Cassiel. Then they should fuse back together.”

Aziraphale glanced at the angel currently reading volume H-K of the encyclopedia in Aziraphale’s reading chair. His heart skipped a beat when Cassiel looked up and gave him a questioning smile. But it wouldn't be Crowley he was kissing. Cassiel might have his face but there were no shared memories, no depth of feeling. No, that was all with Crowley who was somewhere in the bookshop moping.

"Right," Aziraphale said dubiously. "And there's no other…"

"The other option is for all three of you to fornicate but I sort of thought—"

"Yes!" Aziraphale squeaked. "Yes. Yes, You're absolutely right. The former option is preferable."

He coughed and pushed away some thoughts that were far too obscene to even entertain.

"I'll call you when I know more. Get some rest, dear."

"What? You're not going to keep me on the phone while—"

Aziraphale hung up.

"Was that the witch?" Cassiel asked, swinging to his feet in a way that was eerily similar to Crowley but some element was missing. Not enough movement in his hips.

"Yes," Aziraphale said and he slid off his reading glasses, folding back the arms and setting them aside. "It seems we have a solution."

Cassiel cocked his head in question. "Alright. Can we get to it?"

"We had better find Crowley."

Aziraphale was not looking forward to this conversation.

"A sex toy?" Crowley yelled, nostrils flaring. He still hadn’t taken off the sunglasses when he transformed back into his human shape and the effect of the expression was more comical than threatening. Aziraphale still didn’t find it very funny.

"I'm not saying it again," Aziraphale said flatly. "I don’t know why on earth you thought such a thing would help you but you really shouldn't be getting mixed up in—"

"I didnt know it was some sort of sex thing!" Crowley protested. Aziraphale groaned in frustration which only served to set the demon off. He curled his tongue behind his teeth and arched his brows, a look so lascivious that if Aziraphale hadn't been exhausted it might have actually caused him to squirm in response.

"If I had, I would have done something better with it."

"Oh really?" Aziraphale snapped.

Cassiel cleared his throat pointedly, drawing Aziraphale’s attention.

"Right," he said. There was no use getting frustrated or distracted by Crowley’s behavior. They had a goal now. "The point is that there is a simple solution. The spell ends when the primary clone is kissed. It ends the, uh, the…"

"Orgy," Crowey finished with a satisfied click of his teeth.

"Now we don't know if it’s for orgies."

"What’s an orgy?" Cassiel asked.

"Please," Aziraphale said, heart pounding very hard. "I need to kiss Cassiel and this will be done and we can put the whole thing to rest."

"Where's the O volume of the encyc—me?" Cassiel froze in his slow perusal of the center of the bookshop and turned wide golden eyes on Aziraphale. "No, no. You want to kiss Scale Face."

Crowley was eerily silent behind him as Aziraphale stepped forward. "It’s not exactly a matter of want, Cassiel, rather a matter of what needs to be done."

"Maybe I don’t want to kiss you," Cassiel said, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

"Please." A sense of desperation began to steal over Aziraphale, cold and thick. He couldn't breathe. "Crowley's going to—and you’re both— and I— "

"Fuck and half," Crowley hissed, arm going around Aziraphale and herding him into a chair. "Take a breath, angel."

Cassiel rushed to his side, looking worried.

"Aren't you supposed to be an angel? Selfless?" Crowley snapped, not taking his hand off of Aziraphale’s back, a steady warmth between his shoulder blades as Aziraphale tried to breathe.

Cassiel made a frustrated noise that trailed off into a harsh gasp.

"Aw, fuck," Crowley said.

Aziraphale looked up and saw Cassiel's hands were disappearing in the light. “That’s not supposed to happen,” Aziraphale said, the clutching sensation in his chest only getting worse. “Anathema said.”

Everything seemed to spin. His chest hurt. His throat hurt. Crowley’s hand was warm on his back as he sucked in another breath. Cassiel’s hands resolidified and he grimaced as he held them close to his face to examine them.

“And kissing will really fix it? Just like that?”

“Ap—apparently,” Aziraphale said, pressing a hand to his chest even though it did nothing to relieve the pressure.

"Well, uh, I guess, good bye then?" Cassiel said before cupping Aziraphales cheek and kissing him gently.

Shocked, Aziraphale rocked back in his seat, back pressing against Crowley’s hip. Cassiel chased his mouth and it was so strange to feel those lips on his, the slight scrape of stubble, as Cassiel made a low noise of surprise, lips parting against his so he could press closer. Suddenly, the kiss ended as Crowley shoved Cassiel off with an angry grunt.

"Oi, that’s enough," Crowley said, a possessive hand snaking down onto Aziraphale’s shoulder and pulling him tighter against him. Cassiel looked gobsmacked, a hand over his mouth.

"Goodness," he breathed. "That was…"

“Quite,” Aziraphale said as the hand on his shoulder grew tight.

A beat of silence passed before Crowley said, “I’m guessing that didn’t work.”

Anathema sounded harried when Aziraphale called. "Are you sure you did it right?

"I know how to kiss people, Anathema!" Aziraphale protested.

"It just doesn't make sense," Anathema said. "Cassiel should be the primary clone. But if he's fading too…maybe I was wrong. I guess I thought it made sense for his angel half to be the original but maybe Crowley is just...Crowley. Did you try kissing him?"

Aziraphale’s stomach lurched again, real anticipation setting his nerves on edge. Cassiel was one thing. Crowley another entirely.

"Um, not yet. I wanted to confirm with you," Aziraphale said and he turned to see Crowley sullenly drinking straight from a bottle of wine while Cassiel read.

"Do that next and then we may need to chat about how best to propose a threesome to two people who hate each other."

Aziraphale hung up without saying goodbye.

He clutched the edge of the phone table and took a deep breath before standing up straight and pasting a gentle smile on his face. "Crowley, can I speak to you for a moment?"

Crowley's head shot up and he frowned. The journey to his feet and across the room was a slow one, purposefully languid as if to say you don't control me.

The minute he was close enough Aziraphale grabbed his arm and dragged him between two bookshelves.

"What?" Crowley demanded, shaking off his hand.

"So we might have been wrong."

"About what?" Crowley asked before taking another swig of wine.

"Cassiel being the primary clone. He wouldn’t be fading if he were," Aziraphale said as he wrung his hands.

Crowley gave him a flat look. “Is this some attempt to make me feel better? S’not going to work.”

Aziraphale stomped his foot in frustration. “What I’m saying is I have to kiss you to end the spell.”

“No.”

“Pardon me?”

“I’m not going to let you.”

“Crowley, you’ll die,” Aziraphale said, feeling as if he were pleading with a recalcitrant child.

The demon scrubbed a hand through his hair and let out an angry growl. “I’m not having you do something that so obviously disgusts you.”

“Disgusts—”

“Please, you jump at the chance to snog Cassiel but this is me, demon me, fangs and all. I know you. You clearly don’t want to do this. Probably sick just thinking about it.

Something inside Aziraphale snapped at that. He was done. Done with Crowley's churlishness and moods. Done with the implications that he felt anything other than love for his stupid reckless best friend.

“No,” he snapped. “Now you listen to me, you— you…” He almost said fiend but caught himself for fear of setting off another foul reaction. “You idiot. I’m tired of your assumptions about my feelings. Whatever I’ve said in the past you know it wasn't a reflection of who you are. I was afraid, Crowley."

"Because I'm a demon?" Crowley hissed, hackles rising.

"Because I love you,” Aziraphale shouted and his heart pounded a fierce rhythm. He’d never thought he’d actually say it. Let alone like this. “Every part of you. But it wasnt allowed, Crowley. And I was terrified you didn't love me back."

Crowley stared at him. "You idiot."

Then Crowley crossed the distance between them. Cradling his face in his clawed hands, he kissed him. Aziraphale fisted his hands in Crowley's waistcoat and tugged him closer, thrilled by the flicker of a forked tongue against his mouth, a small sound of delight in Crowley's throat. It reverberated in Aziraphale’s own chest. Loved. Entirely loved.

They separated, breathing hard. "I love you," Aziraphale said again, finding the words just as euphoric a second time.

Maybe Crowley was going to speak. Aziraphale would never know. The flash of light in the bookshop blinded him and he fell against the shelf behind him, clutching at the wood to stay upright as his eyes slammed shut. When he opened them, it was to see Crowley collapsed on the floor, scales and talons gone.

Just Crowley.

The demon sat up and clutched at his head.

“Why do I feel like I got hit by a bus?”

Aziraphale blinked away the burning phosphenes and reached for Crowley’s hand, helping him stand. The demon swayed on his feet.

“How did I get here?” Crowley asked, grip tightening around Aziraphale’s hand before he seemed to realize what he was doing and withdrew entirely.

Aziraphale’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Do you not...remember?”

Crowley scrunched up his face and rubbed at his forehead. “No. Just...I was working on something I think and then woke up on the floor of your shop with an awful headache. I think I need a lie down.”

Aziraphale took his arm and led him to the sofa, easing him down onto it and covering him with a blanket. “Why don’t you rest, my dear? I need to make a phone call.”

Closing his eyes, Crowley nodded and rolled onto his side. He tucked the blanket up under his chin like he was cold and Aziraphale’s heart clenched painfully. Uselessly, he reached out and tried to sense the love Cassiel had so confidently informed him was there and found nothing, just that same quiet sense of Crowley, a low demonic hum.

What if Cassiel had been wrong? What if all those Aziraphale had spent doubting and scared weren’t fears he made up inside his head?

No, Aziraphale was being silly. Crowley had practically said he felt the same way before they kissed and it was the sort of kiss that made it difficult to believe there was a lack of feeling.

Aziraphale wrung his hands and looked at the sleeping demon. If only Crowley remembered. Then he wouldn't have to explain or do any of this all over again. Once was hard enough.

The demon half of Crowley had kissed him and been jealous and possessive, but he’d also been seductive and mean and moody and childish and it seemed he represented all of Crowley’s most impulsive behaviors.

And Crowley didn’t even remember it.

Tearing his gaze away from Crowley’s face, Aziraphale turned to the telephone to call Anathema. It might have been the wee hours of the morning but she had requested he phone with any updates.

When he told her it worked, she sounded beyond delighted.

“I was concerned you might not go through with it,” she said with a laugh.

“What?” Aziraphale asked, a bit prickly.

“It just seemed like you’d rather die than hint at having feelings for him. Though I suppose it was his life on the line.”

Aziraphale said goodbye after that and went back to his books. He needed to figure out how to explain this all to Crowley. He wasn't sure his books had answers, but for lack of better advisors, they would have to do.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale did consult his books. The trouble was they offered very little advice.

As Crowley slept, Aziraphale couldn’t stop thinking about all the things the demon accused him of during his time split in two. The ways he put distance between them, the parts of Crowley he praised and the parts he ignored. It cast Crowley’s doubts in sharp relief. Perhaps it had been easy for Aziraphale to see their relationship as one of true connection, based on years of knowing each other, faults and all, and Aziraphale had thought Crowley had shared that perspective, that he knew Aziraphale cared for him. Then again, this seemed a matter not of knowing but rather of believing.

Things would be so much simpler if Crowley just remembered the last 48 hours. Blasted spells and their silly side effects.

It was really Crowley's fault for messing with a human spell. Surely it wouldn't have erased the memory of a human the same way it wouldn't have torn a human's essence in half and threatened their existence.

But chiding Crowley for messing with occult forces would most likely wait for after a more important discussion. Namely, emotions.

Oh, good Lord, Aziraphale was not good at emotions.

He closed the book he'd barely been reading and removed his reading glasses. Crowley wasn’t very good at emotions either but he was typically the one to start the difficult conversations. Always opening the door for Aziraphale to walk through. And he didnt think Aziraphale appreciated him? Preposterous.

Perhaps therein lie the answer. Crowley was very good at gestures. Opening the door. Perhaps Aziraphale needed to make a gesture. A gesture would start a conversation and then Aziraphale could explain everything.

When he'd vaguely considered confessing his feelings to Crowley, he'd never considered having to do it twice.

"You've sighed six times, angel. You alright over there?"

Aziraphale jumped and turned in his chair. "Yes! Quite. Just thinking! Worried about you actually."

“You don’t need to be worrying about me,” Crowley said as he sat up and ran his hand through his hair. The couch had left a crease in his cheek, a rather adorable detail that made him look awfully touchable. His face was probably warm from where it had pressed into the fabric.

“I’m feeling better already,” he said and he stretched his arms overhead. His spine let out a loud crack, shirt rising up and revealing a tantalizing strip of skin that Aziraphale felt slightly better about ogling now that he felt more assured Crowley felt something for him.

Why must he always get so caught up in his doubts? Cassiel had said he felt Crowley’s love and Crowley had called him an idiot and kissed him. The idiot bit didn’t mean anything but the kissing was promising.

“You’re sighing again,” Crowley pointed out, ambling over to Aziraphale’s desk and propping his hip up against it. It was no closer than he would normally stand and yet Aziraphale blushed fiercely at his proximity and scrambled to his feet to put distance between them.

Crowley frowned. “Are you angry with me?”

“What? Certainly not?”

“The last time you acted like this was 1988 after I got one of your books wet.”

That had actually been because Crowley had gotten far too drunk and when they parted that evening, the demon had kissed his cheek and instead of hitting his mark had managed to brush the corner of his mouth and Aziraphale had thought about it for days. Though he had also been cross about the book.

“I know I ruined lunch but I’ll make it up to you,” Crowley said, holding out his hand at his sides plaintively.

Aziraphale bit back yet another sigh and found himself unable to look at Crowley. “It really isn’t that. I’m certain the Ritz is still standing and we can easily reschedule. No harm done, my dear.”

He brought his eyes back to the demon and the sight was a punch to the chest. Crowley, his Crowley. One crooked incisor in a lopsided smile. Not quite a fang but the idea of one. He swallowed and rubbed his hands down his thighs before he did something unwise with them.

"Why don’t you head home and we can get together Friday?" Aziraphale offered. “It won’t be the first time we had to rain check.”

A plan was forming in his mind, but he would need a few days to execute it.

Aziraphale plan hinged specifically on Friday, a specific bottle of wine he would need to track down, and the weather holding.

"Angel, just tell me what I did so I can apologize."

"Crowley, I am not cross with you, I simply have a great deal of things to do after the excitement of the last few days so please, if you would be so kind,” Aziraphale said, ushering Crowley to the door and gesturing for him to leave.

The demon relaxed the smallest fraction and let himself be led. “If you’re sure…”

With purpose and presence of mind, Aziraphale let his hand drift down to Crowley’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. Crowley’s mouth dropped open, eyebrows jumping up above his glasses. Aziraphale had held his hand quite a bit in the last few days but, for Crowley, this was very new.

“Go home, dear. I will see you Friday. Ring me if you need anything.”

“Of course. Yeah. Ring.”

Crowley cast him a look, confused but somehow smiling, before stepping out onto the sunny Soho streets.

Aziraphale shut and locked the door. Now to plan.

Or he would have gotten to planning if fifteen minutes into his google searching, Crowley hadn’t called.

“Where’s the box?”

A strange clicking sound left Aziraphale’s throat and instead of telling the truth (Come on, Aziraphale! Tell the truth!), he hedged. “Box?”

“The—don’t do that. That’s what happened, wasn’t it? I must’ve cocked it up and that’s why I don’t remember coming to yours. What did it do?”

“What did what do?”

“The box,” Crowley prompted, sounding irritated.

Trying not to think about orgies, Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I think you should stop worrying about this box and rest.”

Crowley growled in frustration. “Fine. Can you at least tell me why I’m missing a pair of jeans from my closet?”

“Um.”

“No answer there?”

“Did you check the wash?” Aziraphale asked lightly. He had never been a good liar and he hated lying to Crowley. Perhaps he should just come clean and not mention the kissing and then pretend that he wasn’t in love with his best friend and they could get around to discussing it in another thousand years or so.

Bad idea. He was googling to avoid exactly that outcome.

“Yeah,” Crowley said, drawing out the syllable. “I’ll do that. Maybe the waistcoat and shirt I’m missing are in there too.”

Aziraphale chewed on his bottom lip. A nasty human habit. “I’ll see you Friday!”

Crowley called again the next day.

“I’m having an awful craving for tiramisu. How’s about we go to that bakery you fancy and—”

“Tomorrow would be better, my dear,” Aziraphale said, palms sweating enough that the receiver was slippery in his hand. Did Crowley remember? Was this a hint? “Meet me at St. James. At 1 PM.”

“Oh, like old times then?” Crowley asked. It sounded like a joke but his voice was strained.

“Exactly the opposite, I believe,” Aziraphale said, and he thought such a statement was very brave indeed.

Googling had afforded Aziraphale the ability to purchase a bottle of port Crowley had complimented in December of 1992. It wasn’t exactly picnic fare but enjoyment overrode propriety in this case.

They met on their usual bench and when Crowley spied the basket, his eyebrows climbed his forehead, before he swung down onto the seat beside Aziraphale. “A picnic? Really?”

“The weather’s good.” Aziraphale had made sure of it. “And you always did enjoy a nibble outdoors.”

Crowley gave him an odd look.

“Should we find a spot?” Aziraphale asked, grasping the basket in his hand as he stood.

Crowley trailed after him in silence, not anything new, but somehow it prickled the back of Aziraphale’s neck. He was so nervous! How did humans do this? Go on dates and woo and fall in love.

“You look very nice today,” Aziraphale said after they were settled on the grass beneath a tree by the pond.

Crowley spluttered and coughed, spitting wine everywhere. When he finally got himself under control, he waved off Aziraphale’s concern. “Wrong pipe. Sorry. Thanks.”

After a long and awkward silence, Aziraphale added, “I did bring that tiramisu you mentioned.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, sitting up. “Uh, ta.”

“I wanted you to have something nice.”

Crowley goggled at him. Then he drained his wine and poured himself another cup.

This wasn’t going well at all. Why wasn’t Crowley understanding? Perhaps Aziraphale needed to do more. Perhaps this was too subtle.

They finished eating and drinking, exchanging idle chatter that was somehow more awkward than any conversation they’d had in their entire acquaintance. There was some mention of the use of beaver anus glands in the flavoring of ice cream which should not have occurred whatsoever and Aziraphale regretted bringing up.

They ended up walking around the pond, Crowley’s hands stuffed deep in his too small pockets as Aziraphale contemplated his next move. He wanted Crowley to know he was accepted as he was, that Aziraphale valued him.

Maybe...

“You can drown a duck. If you’d like. I know how entertaining you find it.”

“Do you want me to drown a duck?” Crowley asked, looking aghast.

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“Not if I—not if I don’t want to,” Crowley repeats with a mocking sneer. “What on earth is going on with you?”

“Nothing!” Aziraphale protested. “I just want you to feel comfortable—”

“I’m not going to be bloody comfortable with you asking me to kill the ducks”

A woman walking by them gasped and Crowley sneered at her. “Shut up.”

She scoffed and scurried off. Aziraphale grasped Crowley’s wrist and snapped, “Stop scaring people!”

Crowley yanked his hand away with a sound of frustrated triumph. “Finally!”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s been days, Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed. “Ever since I woke up in the bookshop you’ve been acting strange. I know it has something to do with that box you won’t tell me about. Just tell me and I’ll apologize and you’ll forgive me and we can go back to the way things were.”

“Do I really make you apologize that much?” Aziraphale asked miserably. This was entirely the opposite of what he wanted to be happening. He wanted Crowley to feel appreciated. Not as if he were in trouble.

Crowley’s face scrunched up awkwardly. “Um. No? I don’t know how to answer that.”

Aziraphale stomped his foot. “This is ridiculous. I’m just...I want to make sure you know that...that no matter what I’ve said to you, in the past, I lo-I like you. All of you. Even the demonic bits. I think I may have...” He swallowed and turned away from Crowley’s dumbfounded expression. “I may have obfuscated that truth in the past. But there’s no need now. You needn’t always be nice or good for me to be your...your friend. I just want you to be Crowley.”

Crowley made a strangled noise and collapsed on an empty bench. Aziraphale followed, trying his best not to let his heart sink into the pit forming in his stomach.

“When I was at your shop the other day,” Crowley said, finally looking at him. “I had a dream about being an angel. I hadn’t had one of those in millennia and I thought it was strange. Stranger even because in the dream I met you and we were both angels. But I didn’t know you in Heaven at all. Did I?”

Aziraphale dropped onto the bench beside him. “No,” he breathed.

“You made me eat cake,” Crowley said, gaze fixed in the middle distance. “And told me about orgies and I thought you were...neat.”

Crowley clicked the t between his teeth and swung his head to look at Aziraphale.

“Weird dream, wasn’t it?” he said. “Specific. Detailed.”

Aziraphale swallowed. He should speak, but Crowley had more to say. “And then last night, I had a similar dream. Maybe even more strange. I was an angel again. You were there and so was Book Girl for a bit but then you kissed me.”

“That is...strange,” Aziraphale said in a strangled voice.

“The bit that’s stranger is I keep getting flashes of other memories of the same thing. Except I’m watching instead of experiencing them.”

“Um…”

“What happened to the box in my study, Aziraphale?”

“You said you didn’t remember!”

“I don’t! Not really,” Crowley said and then he hung his head. “But I remember having a box that I was going to use for an experiment and when I came back it was gone and I had a missing forty-eight hours and occasional bursts of two sets of memories. One of which is apparently you saying exactly what you just said but in front of the biographies in the back of the bookshop before snogging the life out of me.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale’s palms were sweating again. Useless corporations and their sweat glands. “Do you remember the rest of that conversation?”

“No! And I don’t know why you won’t tell me!”

“I did a poor job of telling you I loved you the first time and I wanted to do it better, but you refuse to cooperate! Does that make you happy?” Aziraphale snapped.

Crowley’s mouth clicked shut.

“Remember now?” Aziraphale asked with a sniff, proud when his voice didn’t waver. Crowley had to feel the same way. He had to.

“Please don’t tell me to drown the ducks,” Crowley said suddenly.

“What?” Not exactly the response to a declaration of love Aziraphale had been hoping for.

“I like trying to drown the ducks because then you get all huffy. And I like making you huffy, alright?”

“Alright,” Aziraphale said quietly and they sat in silence looking over the duck pond. His stomach twisted itself into fierce knots and no amount of reason seemed able to calm his nerves.

“I think I was eating the pineapple cake you bought me,” Crowley said quietly, “when the spell ended.”

When Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley, the demon was staring out over the pond. The late afternoon light reflecting in his glasses, making his cheekbones sharp.

“I could hear you two arguing behind the bookshelves but I could still feel the love you both felt so I knew it was fine. Yours was like, gosh, he didn’t know what it was but it’s champagne. So strong he could taste it.” Crowley laughed wryly. “He kept thinking of it as wet and fizzy. I guess that was me thinking that. I was a real idiot as an angel.”

Aziraphale laughed. “I thought you were quite sweet.”

Crowley shot him a dirty look. “You would. Probably liked him a far sight better than...did I have fangs?”

“Well…” Aziraphale took the opportunity to shuffle a bit closer on the bench. “You were a bit emotional.”

Crowley hissed.

“But I liked that too,” Aziraphale assured him, dropping his hand to the bench to brush his fingers over the back of Crowley’s knuckles. “You don’t have to be good or nice or sweet for me to want you, Crowley.”

Crowley tangled their fingers together as Aziraphale said, “I love you, and you deserve to hear it every day.”

Crowley squeezed his hand and his whole body seemed to relax. “Yeah, you...you too, angel.”

They exhaled together and Crowley spoke again. “I’m glad I remember. At least most of it. I’d hate to have forgotten our first kiss.”

“Kisses,” Aziraphale corrected with a laugh.

Crowley laughed too. “I guess we got two, didn’t we?”

“Three actually,” Aziraphale said quietly. “If you’d like.”

Crowley closed the distance between them and it wasn’t the demon nor was it the angel but it was Crowley and it sparked through Aziraphale. Their noses brushed as the angle changed, breath mingling when Aziraphale made a small wrecked sound against Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley pulled away first. “Let’s go back to the bookshop. The way I’m thinking about kissing you will get us banned from St. James.”

“You can’t get banned from a park,” Aziraphale objected, thinking snogging on the bench sounded quite nice actually. The weather was perfect for it.

“That’s what you think,” Crowley said, not releasing his hand as they stood.

It was a surreal thing to walk through Soho holding Crowley’s hand. An odd fulfillment of a long held dream. Crowley loved him. They’d both said it. Crowley knew what had happened and even if he didn’t remember it all he might one day.

He answered some of Crowley’s questions about his missing memories as they walked but the demon was hung up one thing:

“It was really a sex toy?” Crowley asked as they stepped into the bookstore. “The dealer I got it from was a bloody swindler then.”

“You’ll have to ask Anathema about the details, my dear,” Aziraphale said, swiftly locking up. Crowley settled into the usual place and Aziraphale’s heart was very full indeed. “She said occult sex toys are a dime a dozen. In fact, she had a whole book on the subject.”

“A whole book?” Crowley asked, clicking his tongue thoughtfully. “Now that’s an interesting idea.”