𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐍, ineffable husbands

from demon to angel

Year eight: They had decided not to barge or rush into any labels, names, or other frivolous stuff. Occasionally they had talked about it but they ran into the same answer each time: they loved each other and that was enough for them. Labels weren't necessary.

There were times Crowley woke up yelling and kicking some foreign enemy either invisible or completely fake. During those moments of time when reality and his dreams never aligned, Aziraphale was still there for him. He felt guilty. This was wrong.

Some days they chatted for hours, some days they stayed completely silent and seemed to purposefully ignore each other. Their love was complicated, vaguely uncomfortable, and somehow taboo. An angel seemed to be much more pure and "correct" than a reformed angel would be.

Dear God, Crowley would be an angel in two years. Currently, the duo were lounging on the couch together, close enough to almost consider them cuddling. Crowley's head was leaning into Aziraphale's neck while he carefully rested an arm around him. They seemed comfortable; it was obvious something was on the confused demon's mind.

"Did you need to talk about something?" He patiently looked up at him, sighed, then opted to lay his head in his lap as he lied on the couch. Much better.

It took him a second to transfer the words from his heart to his brain to his throat to his mouth to his tongue. It stung all the way up. "Do you know what happens if I get redeemed?" His body almost visibly sighed. It was a question he had since the beginning. "What happens next?"

Aziraphale played with his hair a little bit, gently musing it back and forth. "Well," he began, "I'm not entirely sure. I was just told to redeem you. I wasn't told how, nor why, or even what would happen if you failed or not." It wasn't an answer he hated or loved; to be fair, it was barely an answer. "But I can tell you what happened to Gabriel."

He nodded, not caring to speak. The gentle feeling atop his head felt nice. If anything, since his stupid journey to the mirror, his hair was probably the one thing he didn't especially mind. It looked nice; it was long and had a nice, dull shade of red to it. He trusted Aziraphale with it.

"Basically, from what Sandalphon told me, Gabriel eventually calmed down. When he went on to completely be an angel, he was a little freaked. He told me he got his memories back, every single one at once, almost like he went through them again. When he, 'woke up,' he was back in his world with Sandalphon. They tried to leave their house later but when they opened the door, it was just white. They went through and found everybody else." He paused his rant, waiting for Crowley's thoughts.

He was listening on an almost vague level, almost understanding; it was like reading a foreign language with the same sentence structure as the original language; bits and pieces could make themselves together but the idea remained a blurred mystery. The most he could focus on were the inflections and dictations of Aziraphale's speech patterns. Though he was practically terrified upon what happened after this, his voice could soothe him.

Debating on the slew of questions he had, he chose a single one to get him to continue. "Where was everybody else?"

He paused, seeming to think. "It's hard to explain. It's like this somewhat... like, this kinda... uh, place that just everyone is?" Thank you, Aziraphale, very good answer. "It's almost like a house but there's nothing in each room. Think of the layout of a mansion, but no furniture and all in different shades of white."

Humming in response, he focused mostly on the feeling of his hair being brushed about. He could fall asleep like this; he was safe, he was warm, he was comfortable. The conversation someone fell gracefully to the floor, almost like stray cobwebs in a dusty wind. Quiet introspection whispered through the room.

Thinking about it now, Crowley could almost hear things he felt nobody else could. His hair made slight shifting sounds as it was being messed with, the house seemed to creak in a sturdy, yet unrecognizable rhythm, and the outside hummed with the sound of laughter. He wondered what was so funny. He figured he'd never know.

His mind started to wander without the guidance of voices to distract him. He was a little terrified of exactly what two years time would bring; who were the other angels? What were they like? Would he be an outcast? Would he be shunned? Disregarded?

Though, he could still fail, after all. Maybe he could go rogue and attempt to kill Aziraphale. Maybe he could go insane and scream at him, throw things at him, tear him apart...

He chose to stop thinking about that. Those thoughts frightened him because he knew he was capable of performing them.

He still wondered if what happened to the other guy would happen to him. Would he relive those memories? They aren't very good memories, especially from what he could vaguely remember. Was he ever a real person to begin with?

There wasn't any proof still that any of this was real. Aziraphale could be fake, a hallucination sent down from God; this house could be fake, this chance of redemption could be fake. Maybe it was a new part of hell; maybe they tricked him into thinking he was worth a damn.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and snuggled in closer to Aziraphale's lap. He would stop thinking about that, at least for now. Right now, he was okay.

He was okay.