All The Lies - 2/5
Oct. 12th, 2019 09:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silver_sunPart 2
Darkness fell, or at least as much as it ever did in central London, leaving the interior of the bookshop lit only by the dim orange glow of the street lights outside.
On the floor, books still scattered around him, Aziraphale remained where Gabriel had left him. The physical tears had long since ceased, as had the shaking. Whether the detached, numb feeling that his corporation was experiencing was a good thing he had no way of telling, as his mind was still crying out in anger and grief, a howling storm of emotions that he couldn't quite manage to bring under control.
Images of the war in Heaven, the Great Rebellion, filled his head. The call to arms, trumpets, battle songs, uniforms, orders, fighting. The cries and screams. The smell of angelic blood falling for the first time, the stench of sulphur and the heat of Hell Fire. And death. The absolute, unimaginable horror of the very first death and of trying to process the concept of it, the idea that you could just cease to be. There had been no death before. There had been no need for it, no way of accomplishing it.
What horrors would a second rebellion unleash? What deaths would be his fault? Earth would become as much a battle ground as Heaven and Hell, there was no way to avoid it, neither side would care how many humans were lost along the way.
And for what? Because he liked his books, his food, his Crowley too much. Yet what were his decidedly earthly pleasures compared the lives of all those on Earth? Nothing. To pretend otherwise would be selfish. He was a poor excuse for an angel and he knew it.
Caught in the vicious tide of memories and fears for the future, Aziraphale barely noticed the door opening. The chime of the little brass bell loud in the quiet of the shop.
"Come on, Angel. I know you're in here. We're going to be late."
Crowley. Aziraphale could see him dimly silhouetted against the open door, light from outside seeping in around him. He had to send him away. What if Gabriel returned with Sandalphon or Michael? They wouldn't hesitate to try to smite Crowley. He had no hope of being able to stop them. No, there was really only one thing for it. Taking a shaky breath, he called out, "Go away. I don't want you here."
There was a moments silence, then Crowley clicked his fingers and antique desk lamps flickered on, bathing the shop in a warm glow. "You don't mean that. You-" Crowley stopped and looked at him. "What's happened?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. I just realised that you shouldn't be here. That you really need to go right now. Please." Aziraphale tried to will his breathing to even out, but it didn't seem to help. "You've been such a bad influence on me, absolutely terrible really and I can't..."
The words died on his lips as he saw the look on Crowley's face. Anger, hurt and something that looked an awful lot like fear. In two steps he's standing over him and Aziraphale can't stop himself from flinching away. Neither can he stop the apology for doing so falling from his lips a moment later.
Crowley doesn't speak, his lips pressed together in a thin, tight line, like he doesn't trust what might escape them if he did not. He swallowed, neck bobbing and then, still wordlessly, he held out a hand.
He knew he shouldn't take it, he should send Crowley away for his own safety. Yet he does. He lets himself be pulled to his feet, for his hand to be held just that bit longer than was really needed. Allow himself to feel weak with relief that just for moment they can touch.
Slowly, reluctantly, Crowley lets go of his hand. "So are you going to tell me what's happened?"
"It's nothing." He was cold. He wasn't sure why he was so cold or why it should bother him. It really didn't matter he decided, soon enough nothing would matter at all, because he'd have nothing left.
"Really? Because you sitting on the floor in the dark is totally normal."
"I'm not."
"You were."
"Well now I'm not," Aziraphale said defensively, "So just you stop it."
Crowley made a noise that was somehow both annoyed and concerned and then helped himself to a bottle of wine and two glasses.
"So what happened? Did you have to sell a book or something? Get into an argument about the Dewey-Decimal system again?"
Aziraphale knew the teasing was meant to put him at ease, to help him open up, and normally it would. Now all it did was remind him of the friendship, companionship, love even, that he was going to lose. Wine wasn't strong enough for this conversation, and really what did it matter anymore if he did a selfish little miracle, he thought with an uncharacteristic bitterness. The wine in his glass changed to a nicely aged single malt whisky.
Crowley quirked an eyebrow as he sensed what the angel had done. "That bad, huh?"
Taking a haste swallow of his drink, Aziraphale nodded miserably. "Gabriel decided to visit."
The demon made a disgusted face. "I take it that it wasn't to ask how you're doing since the whole world not ending thing?"
"No." He managed a wan little smile, "I think we both know that's not really his style."
Taking up what had in recent weeks become his usual position on the couch, Crowley gestured towards the ceiling with his class. "Gabriel is so far up his own arse that I'm surprised he doesn't choke on his halo."
A small laugh bubbled up despite the misery that threaten to drag him back down. "You have such a wicked tongue."
Dipping his head so he was looking over his glasses, Crowley flicked out his tongue at him, temporarily forked and snakelike.
"Enough of that, you silly serpent," Aziraphale replied fondly. Turning away, he retreated to his chair opposite the couch. How was he going to get through the evening? He'd tried and failed to send Crowley away, and he knew that he couldn't do it again, couldn't even attempt it, he'd never get the words out. Yet he could hardly tell him the truth. Nor could he do nothing and be the cause of another war in Heaven.
It would have all been so much simpler if Crowley hadn't fallen or if I had, he thought miserably.
Fall. Maybe that was it. Maybe he could Fall. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he had always feared. Perhaps he could just saunter vaguely downwards as Crowley had put it. It would certainly be enough to put any angel off from copying him. He wouldn't be a bad influence on Heaven any more, so no second rebellion, no war spilling over onto Earth, no deaths that were his fault.
He could keep his life, keep people safe, keep Crowley safe. It was the best solution for them all, he told himself, as he tried to ignore the fact that this hands had begun to shake.
It would have to be quick. He had to do it before he caused anymore problems in Heaven, and definitely before Gabriel came back. How did you make yourself Fall? He could hardly ask Crowley as he knew he'd tried to talk him out of it.
Crowley. Aziraphale looked at him. The languid sprawl of limbs on his couch, wine glass held loosely in his long figures, red hair almost glowing under the lamplight. He couldn't lose him, couldn't lose these moments or the promise of much more.
He licked dry, nervous lips. That was it. That was the way he could Fall. He could let Crowley take him. Let him, as Gabriel had said, desecrate him. That would surely be enough and wasn’t like it something he hadn’t wanted and fantasised over. He knew Crowley wanted it too, that he had done from probably even long than he had. It was just giving in to the inevitable.
Would it really be enough to make him Fall? Aziraphale wondered. Just having sex really didn't seem like it would be enough. Or was it because it would be the culmination of everything else that he'd done that angels were definitely not supposed to do. He wished he had someone to ask, but there was no one Crowley, and he could hardly ask him. It would break his heart to know that he'd made him Fall. As for all Crowley had always denied feeling things like love or being nice, Aziraphale knew with absolute certainty that it was patently untrue.
Aziraphale took a swallow of whisky, feeling sick at his own plan of using Crowley. He could never, ever let him know the truth. He would tell him that he'd been questioning the plan, the ineffable plan itself and God ever since what had happened at the Airfield. That he'd lost his faith in it all. It was a believable lie. One scarily close to the truth.
Having successfully frightened himself even more than before, he finished the glass, poured another and gulped half of it down in one go. It did nothing to settle his nerves or give him any idea on how to put his plan into action. He just didn't feel in any way amorous, in fact he didn't feel like having sex at all. He couldn't let that get in the way of the plan, he told himself. There wasn't time for hesitation, he had to do something fast, tonight if he could. Maybe if he had a few more drinks, a bottle or so, then he'd be in the mood. Yes, that was it. He could do this. He really, definitely could. Because the alternative was unthinkable.
Crowley watched him over the top of his dark glasses. "You know you could just tell me what's happened without getting plastered. Not that you aren't a fun drunk, but it would be quicker."
"I did tell you, Gabriel paid me a visit. It put me a little out of sorts. That's all."
"Really."
"Alright, a lot out of sorts." Aziraphale got up and moved over to Crowley. He had to do this now, he had to stop more questions being asked, and he very definitely had to stop over thinking things. No, he had to get it over and done with so they could all be safe. Sitting down in the space between where Crowley had one leg propped up on the table and the over carelessly draped over the arm of the couch, he added, "Gabriel said a lot of hurtful things about you, about us."
Crowley swallowed hard as the angel all but sat on his lap, voice less than steady as he tried a careless, "So what's new?"
"It um made me realise something, I've kept you waiting for far too long," Aziraphale said, hoping that it sounded vaguely believable. "There's no reason for us not to err..." He could feel himself blush, the heat crawling up his cheeks. "Not to be together, to do...to do what lovers do."
"Oh." Crowley's eyes widened and to Aziraphale's surprise he went red, right to the tips of his ears. "You want to err...to do it, to...um...kiss?"
"Kissing, yes of course. Kissing and more. Lots more." He needed to be brave, daring, quick, Aziraphale reminded himself. Their lives depended on it, as well as Heaven and Earth. Leaning in he kissed Crowley full on the mouth.
His lips were warm and dry, soft and ever so slightly parted. It felt more like coming home than any visit to Heaven ever had. Which was, he thought wildly, almost certainly a blasphemous thing to say. Although considering what his aim was that was probably a good thing, so he resolved to attempt to have more thoughts like that, as it might speed the process along a little bit.
Crowley kissed him back without hesitation. Tentatively at first, like he could't quite believe that he was being given permission to do it.
It was nice. Very, very nice, Aziraphale decided, as after a few moments he let Crowley take over control of the kiss. He felt all gooey. Which probably wasn't the best description and certainly wasn't a particularly sexy one, but he felt warm and soft, all sort of melty. Rather like the inside of a very good chocolate fondant cake fresh from the oven. It was good, good enough to forget, for a moment at least, everything else.
Growing bolder, Crowley's tongue swiped across his lips, wet and warm and promising things that would leave them breathless. Taking off his glasses with one hand, Crowley put a steadying hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, as he tried to unhook the leg that was over the arm of the couch and curl it round the back of the angel's legs instead.
Which would have been find, except for the fact that the bruises on his shoulders decided to make themselves felt and Aziraphale tensed, unable to stop the little huff of pain that escaped him.
Crowley stopped, pulling back from the kiss, a questioning, uncertain look in his eyes.
Not daring to meet them, Aziraphale looked down at his chest and replied, "It's nothing."
"That was not nothing, that was pain. You're not supposed to be in pain. This is supposed to be fun." A look out right anger flashed across his eyes. "It was Gabriel, wasn't it? He hurt you. That's what happened."
Aziraphale nodded, then not wanting to worry Crowley, but also not wanting him to stop, said, "It's just a silly little bruise. It's nothing really, it caught me by surprise, that's all. It's fine. I'm fine. Absolutely totally fine. Now where were we?"
"It's not fine." The anger in his eyes bubbled over into his voice. "It's not fine at all. I should have roasted that smug grin of his stupid face, I should have...."
"Please don't." Aziraphale felt like weeping, helpless frustration threatening to overwhelm him once more. "He'd destroy you, I can't..."
"Hey, no. Shh, stop. No, no, no. Don't cry." Crowley sounded panicked, utterly out of his depth. "Look how about I sort the bruise out, then we'll have another drink. Lots of drinks, your choice. I can get you some cake or something. It's okay, we've got all the time in the world, remember. You and me, together."
They didn't have time, not yet at least, once he'd fallen they would. They'd be free. Aziraphale forced a smile and leant back in to kiss him. "I'm alright, really I am. Let's just do it, get it all over and done with."
Crowley sighed and shook his head, sorrowful yellow eyes meeting troubled blue. "No, you're not. I might be a demon, but I'm not going to have my wicked way with you while you're like this. Seriously, it'd be no fun for anyone." Cupping a hand against Aziraphale's cheek, thumb brushing against his lips. "I'm not a monster."
Any idea of being able to maintain composure was gone, and Aziraphale hunched in on himself. He'd ruined everything. Would continue to ruin everything for everyone. Closing his eyes, a sob shook him, raw and wretched, misery swallowing him whole.
After a brief moment of panicked indecision, Crowley slowly and carefully, wrapped his arms around him, rocking him gently and holding him close while he wept.
Part 3
Darkness fell, or at least as much as it ever did in central London, leaving the interior of the bookshop lit only by the dim orange glow of the street lights outside.
On the floor, books still scattered around him, Aziraphale remained where Gabriel had left him. The physical tears had long since ceased, as had the shaking. Whether the detached, numb feeling that his corporation was experiencing was a good thing he had no way of telling, as his mind was still crying out in anger and grief, a howling storm of emotions that he couldn't quite manage to bring under control.
Images of the war in Heaven, the Great Rebellion, filled his head. The call to arms, trumpets, battle songs, uniforms, orders, fighting. The cries and screams. The smell of angelic blood falling for the first time, the stench of sulphur and the heat of Hell Fire. And death. The absolute, unimaginable horror of the very first death and of trying to process the concept of it, the idea that you could just cease to be. There had been no death before. There had been no need for it, no way of accomplishing it.
What horrors would a second rebellion unleash? What deaths would be his fault? Earth would become as much a battle ground as Heaven and Hell, there was no way to avoid it, neither side would care how many humans were lost along the way.
And for what? Because he liked his books, his food, his Crowley too much. Yet what were his decidedly earthly pleasures compared the lives of all those on Earth? Nothing. To pretend otherwise would be selfish. He was a poor excuse for an angel and he knew it.
Caught in the vicious tide of memories and fears for the future, Aziraphale barely noticed the door opening. The chime of the little brass bell loud in the quiet of the shop.
"Come on, Angel. I know you're in here. We're going to be late."
Crowley. Aziraphale could see him dimly silhouetted against the open door, light from outside seeping in around him. He had to send him away. What if Gabriel returned with Sandalphon or Michael? They wouldn't hesitate to try to smite Crowley. He had no hope of being able to stop them. No, there was really only one thing for it. Taking a shaky breath, he called out, "Go away. I don't want you here."
There was a moments silence, then Crowley clicked his fingers and antique desk lamps flickered on, bathing the shop in a warm glow. "You don't mean that. You-" Crowley stopped and looked at him. "What's happened?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. I just realised that you shouldn't be here. That you really need to go right now. Please." Aziraphale tried to will his breathing to even out, but it didn't seem to help. "You've been such a bad influence on me, absolutely terrible really and I can't..."
The words died on his lips as he saw the look on Crowley's face. Anger, hurt and something that looked an awful lot like fear. In two steps he's standing over him and Aziraphale can't stop himself from flinching away. Neither can he stop the apology for doing so falling from his lips a moment later.
Crowley doesn't speak, his lips pressed together in a thin, tight line, like he doesn't trust what might escape them if he did not. He swallowed, neck bobbing and then, still wordlessly, he held out a hand.
He knew he shouldn't take it, he should send Crowley away for his own safety. Yet he does. He lets himself be pulled to his feet, for his hand to be held just that bit longer than was really needed. Allow himself to feel weak with relief that just for moment they can touch.
Slowly, reluctantly, Crowley lets go of his hand. "So are you going to tell me what's happened?"
"It's nothing." He was cold. He wasn't sure why he was so cold or why it should bother him. It really didn't matter he decided, soon enough nothing would matter at all, because he'd have nothing left.
"Really? Because you sitting on the floor in the dark is totally normal."
"I'm not."
"You were."
"Well now I'm not," Aziraphale said defensively, "So just you stop it."
Crowley made a noise that was somehow both annoyed and concerned and then helped himself to a bottle of wine and two glasses.
"So what happened? Did you have to sell a book or something? Get into an argument about the Dewey-Decimal system again?"
Aziraphale knew the teasing was meant to put him at ease, to help him open up, and normally it would. Now all it did was remind him of the friendship, companionship, love even, that he was going to lose. Wine wasn't strong enough for this conversation, and really what did it matter anymore if he did a selfish little miracle, he thought with an uncharacteristic bitterness. The wine in his glass changed to a nicely aged single malt whisky.
Crowley quirked an eyebrow as he sensed what the angel had done. "That bad, huh?"
Taking a haste swallow of his drink, Aziraphale nodded miserably. "Gabriel decided to visit."
The demon made a disgusted face. "I take it that it wasn't to ask how you're doing since the whole world not ending thing?"
"No." He managed a wan little smile, "I think we both know that's not really his style."
Taking up what had in recent weeks become his usual position on the couch, Crowley gestured towards the ceiling with his class. "Gabriel is so far up his own arse that I'm surprised he doesn't choke on his halo."
A small laugh bubbled up despite the misery that threaten to drag him back down. "You have such a wicked tongue."
Dipping his head so he was looking over his glasses, Crowley flicked out his tongue at him, temporarily forked and snakelike.
"Enough of that, you silly serpent," Aziraphale replied fondly. Turning away, he retreated to his chair opposite the couch. How was he going to get through the evening? He'd tried and failed to send Crowley away, and he knew that he couldn't do it again, couldn't even attempt it, he'd never get the words out. Yet he could hardly tell him the truth. Nor could he do nothing and be the cause of another war in Heaven.
It would have all been so much simpler if Crowley hadn't fallen or if I had, he thought miserably.
Fall. Maybe that was it. Maybe he could Fall. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he had always feared. Perhaps he could just saunter vaguely downwards as Crowley had put it. It would certainly be enough to put any angel off from copying him. He wouldn't be a bad influence on Heaven any more, so no second rebellion, no war spilling over onto Earth, no deaths that were his fault.
He could keep his life, keep people safe, keep Crowley safe. It was the best solution for them all, he told himself, as he tried to ignore the fact that this hands had begun to shake.
It would have to be quick. He had to do it before he caused anymore problems in Heaven, and definitely before Gabriel came back. How did you make yourself Fall? He could hardly ask Crowley as he knew he'd tried to talk him out of it.
Crowley. Aziraphale looked at him. The languid sprawl of limbs on his couch, wine glass held loosely in his long figures, red hair almost glowing under the lamplight. He couldn't lose him, couldn't lose these moments or the promise of much more.
He licked dry, nervous lips. That was it. That was the way he could Fall. He could let Crowley take him. Let him, as Gabriel had said, desecrate him. That would surely be enough and wasn’t like it something he hadn’t wanted and fantasised over. He knew Crowley wanted it too, that he had done from probably even long than he had. It was just giving in to the inevitable.
Would it really be enough to make him Fall? Aziraphale wondered. Just having sex really didn't seem like it would be enough. Or was it because it would be the culmination of everything else that he'd done that angels were definitely not supposed to do. He wished he had someone to ask, but there was no one Crowley, and he could hardly ask him. It would break his heart to know that he'd made him Fall. As for all Crowley had always denied feeling things like love or being nice, Aziraphale knew with absolute certainty that it was patently untrue.
Aziraphale took a swallow of whisky, feeling sick at his own plan of using Crowley. He could never, ever let him know the truth. He would tell him that he'd been questioning the plan, the ineffable plan itself and God ever since what had happened at the Airfield. That he'd lost his faith in it all. It was a believable lie. One scarily close to the truth.
Having successfully frightened himself even more than before, he finished the glass, poured another and gulped half of it down in one go. It did nothing to settle his nerves or give him any idea on how to put his plan into action. He just didn't feel in any way amorous, in fact he didn't feel like having sex at all. He couldn't let that get in the way of the plan, he told himself. There wasn't time for hesitation, he had to do something fast, tonight if he could. Maybe if he had a few more drinks, a bottle or so, then he'd be in the mood. Yes, that was it. He could do this. He really, definitely could. Because the alternative was unthinkable.
Crowley watched him over the top of his dark glasses. "You know you could just tell me what's happened without getting plastered. Not that you aren't a fun drunk, but it would be quicker."
"I did tell you, Gabriel paid me a visit. It put me a little out of sorts. That's all."
"Really."
"Alright, a lot out of sorts." Aziraphale got up and moved over to Crowley. He had to do this now, he had to stop more questions being asked, and he very definitely had to stop over thinking things. No, he had to get it over and done with so they could all be safe. Sitting down in the space between where Crowley had one leg propped up on the table and the over carelessly draped over the arm of the couch, he added, "Gabriel said a lot of hurtful things about you, about us."
Crowley swallowed hard as the angel all but sat on his lap, voice less than steady as he tried a careless, "So what's new?"
"It um made me realise something, I've kept you waiting for far too long," Aziraphale said, hoping that it sounded vaguely believable. "There's no reason for us not to err..." He could feel himself blush, the heat crawling up his cheeks. "Not to be together, to do...to do what lovers do."
"Oh." Crowley's eyes widened and to Aziraphale's surprise he went red, right to the tips of his ears. "You want to err...to do it, to...um...kiss?"
"Kissing, yes of course. Kissing and more. Lots more." He needed to be brave, daring, quick, Aziraphale reminded himself. Their lives depended on it, as well as Heaven and Earth. Leaning in he kissed Crowley full on the mouth.
His lips were warm and dry, soft and ever so slightly parted. It felt more like coming home than any visit to Heaven ever had. Which was, he thought wildly, almost certainly a blasphemous thing to say. Although considering what his aim was that was probably a good thing, so he resolved to attempt to have more thoughts like that, as it might speed the process along a little bit.
Crowley kissed him back without hesitation. Tentatively at first, like he could't quite believe that he was being given permission to do it.
It was nice. Very, very nice, Aziraphale decided, as after a few moments he let Crowley take over control of the kiss. He felt all gooey. Which probably wasn't the best description and certainly wasn't a particularly sexy one, but he felt warm and soft, all sort of melty. Rather like the inside of a very good chocolate fondant cake fresh from the oven. It was good, good enough to forget, for a moment at least, everything else.
Growing bolder, Crowley's tongue swiped across his lips, wet and warm and promising things that would leave them breathless. Taking off his glasses with one hand, Crowley put a steadying hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, as he tried to unhook the leg that was over the arm of the couch and curl it round the back of the angel's legs instead.
Which would have been find, except for the fact that the bruises on his shoulders decided to make themselves felt and Aziraphale tensed, unable to stop the little huff of pain that escaped him.
Crowley stopped, pulling back from the kiss, a questioning, uncertain look in his eyes.
Not daring to meet them, Aziraphale looked down at his chest and replied, "It's nothing."
"That was not nothing, that was pain. You're not supposed to be in pain. This is supposed to be fun." A look out right anger flashed across his eyes. "It was Gabriel, wasn't it? He hurt you. That's what happened."
Aziraphale nodded, then not wanting to worry Crowley, but also not wanting him to stop, said, "It's just a silly little bruise. It's nothing really, it caught me by surprise, that's all. It's fine. I'm fine. Absolutely totally fine. Now where were we?"
"It's not fine." The anger in his eyes bubbled over into his voice. "It's not fine at all. I should have roasted that smug grin of his stupid face, I should have...."
"Please don't." Aziraphale felt like weeping, helpless frustration threatening to overwhelm him once more. "He'd destroy you, I can't..."
"Hey, no. Shh, stop. No, no, no. Don't cry." Crowley sounded panicked, utterly out of his depth. "Look how about I sort the bruise out, then we'll have another drink. Lots of drinks, your choice. I can get you some cake or something. It's okay, we've got all the time in the world, remember. You and me, together."
They didn't have time, not yet at least, once he'd fallen they would. They'd be free. Aziraphale forced a smile and leant back in to kiss him. "I'm alright, really I am. Let's just do it, get it all over and done with."
Crowley sighed and shook his head, sorrowful yellow eyes meeting troubled blue. "No, you're not. I might be a demon, but I'm not going to have my wicked way with you while you're like this. Seriously, it'd be no fun for anyone." Cupping a hand against Aziraphale's cheek, thumb brushing against his lips. "I'm not a monster."
Any idea of being able to maintain composure was gone, and Aziraphale hunched in on himself. He'd ruined everything. Would continue to ruin everything for everyone. Closing his eyes, a sob shook him, raw and wretched, misery swallowing him whole.
After a brief moment of panicked indecision, Crowley slowly and carefully, wrapped his arms around him, rocking him gently and holding him close while he wept.
Part 3