Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Aziraphale! Hurry up!” Gabriel’s voice wafted up the stairs. “We’re going to be late!”

“Coming!” Azirpahale called back from his closet, where he was currently on his hands and knees rummaging through his belongings. “I can’t find my shoes!” Aziraphale could hear his brother stomping up the stairs and into his room. Aziraphale poked his head out of the closet bashfully, looking up at his older brother.

“I’ve been telling you to clean your closet for weeks. You’re always such a mess.” Aziraphale nodded sadly. “Let me look.” Gabriel kneeled down on the floor next to him and dug through his closet. “Here they are,” he said, producing two kids’ dress shoes “you didn’t even look. Now sit down and give me your feet. Everyone else is already in the car. You’re going to make us late for church.”

“I’m sorry Gabriel.” Aziraphale said, his voice trembling as he crawled out of the closet.

“Don’t be such a baby. Mother doesn’t like tears and you’ll get her mad at all of us.”

Aziraphale nodded. Nobody needed Mother to be upset. Especially not because of him.

“Okay, you’re all set. C’mon,” Gabriel said, pulling Aziraphale to his feet as he stood up. “Let’s get in the car.”

The two walked down the large front staircase, Gabriel holding Aziraphale’s hand to lead him down. Aziraphale was too old to be carried now that he was five, but Gabriel still held his hand. It was easier when Gabriel told him what to do.

Aziraphale shifted in the pew. The hardwood hurt his bottom and there was no way he could sit comfortably. The tag on the back of his dress shirt rubbed against the back of his neck, and another tag rubbed his lower back. The pastor was preaching about something in his reedy voice, although Aziraphale had stopped listening. He looked down the pew at the rest of his family. Everyone else seemed to being paying close attention to the sermon, each sitting tall around their mother.

Aziraphale felt a slight nudge to his left. He looked up at Gabriel, who was sitting at the end of the pew and shaking his head minutely at Aziraphale. The message was clear: pay attention.

Aziraphale sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to pay attention. He just couldn’t! The tags were consuming his every thought and the pastor's voice was awful. All Aziraphale wanted to do was rip off his clothes and run out of the sanctuary. It was no use thinking about it though, since he never could and thinking about it just made him want it more.

Instead, Aziraphale focused on the stained glass on the far wall. The colors were bright and the light that streamed from them inviting. Aziraphale traced the thin lines between the planes of glass with his eyes, following their swooping motions. He did this every Sunday and the movement was calming. His current pane of focus showed a sword surrounded by flames. This one confused Aziraphale. The others depicted famous scenes like Adam and Eve, or Jesus and a lamb, but this was just a sword. Whose sword was it? Unable to think of anything, Aziraphale moved his eyes to the next window. This was his favorite, with a dove in flight surrounded by rainbow light. The swoops of the wings were marvelous to trace, and the dove felt sacred in a way the sword did not. It was beautiful.

Aziraphale’s reverie was disturbed by the blast of the organ beginning the next song, and everyone scrambled to their feet. Gabriel helped Aziraphale stand, and then held out the hymnal so he could see. Aziraphale couldn’t read the lyrics yet, but he knew that you sang up when the notes on the page went up. This was his favorite part of the service, the singing. The music was nice, even if Gabriel’s voice sounded wrong. It was good to be doing something rather than just sit. He looked over at the rest of his family to see Mother smiling at him, in her distant way. That was the other good thing about singing in church, Mother liked it.