Please forgive me

Line rehearsal

Luckily the road becomes a long straight before Crowley gets fully out of view. About 200 meters up the road the Bentley takes a wide turn into a narrow drive and disappears in the tree line.

Aziraphale slows to a stop at the mouth of the driveway. It's thickly wooded with unruly vegetation and underbrush flanking the gravel drive. Just barely he can see the Bentley's bumper at the opposite end of the 50 meter drive. Just for a moment- a mere fraction of a second- a lanky figure in black stumbles through Aziraphale's line of sight. They're hardly anything but a smudge in the distance but it's enough. The angel can feel his saliva thicken in his mouth. He didn't realize how hard this was going to be, even having been at the cusp of this encounter before, seeing him changes everything.

Much to Aziraphale's shame a barely audible whimper escapes his lips. He swallows hard, his spit getting caught in his throat. He realizes he doesn't even know what he's going to say. What can he say? What do you say to someone after doing the type of thing he's done? There can't possibly be any words, he thinks. He thinks about the conversation he had with Nina earlier.

A vehicle pulls up behind Aziraphale's car. There's just enough room on the road for them to go around. The car pauses behind Aziraphale, seemingly trying to figure out if they should pass or if this obstacle is going to move. The on-comer puts on their  hazards and steps out. Great. Not now. Aziraphale thinks of just flooring it and getting out of the way. Or just getting away from what he has to face.

Aziraphale rolls down his window as a grey-bearded man walks up. He tries for a smile but it feels weak.

"Alright there, lad? Car trouble?" The man bends down to better have the conversation. Aziraphale makes an unintelligible noise instead of words. The man's heavy brow lifts, having noticed Aziraphale's fluster. "You okay?" He seems to be genuinely concerned.

Aziraphale's lips tug back in a half-hearted smile. "Yes, thank you. The car is also- I just needed a moment."

"It's just-" he seems a bit uncomfortable. He seems more equipped to deal with a mechanical issue than an emotional one. He points to his own cheek, "it's just that you're-" Aziraphale touches his cheek and sure enough he feels a trail of tears. He chuckles. Of course. Goodness! He didn't even realize he had started crying.

Aziraphale convinces the good samaritan that he is okay and that this is his destination and he'll be on his way. With that settled he has no choice but to get it over with.

As the Toyota creeps up the gravel drive Aziraphale notices several patches of tall grass that seem to of been ran over, much farther from the path than any should be. He can't imagine Crowley driving over the plants and sticks that could hurt his prized car. It puts a sour taste in his mouth. The idea that Crowley has been driving drunk enough to go off-roading more than annoys the angel. He thinks of anybody Crowley might've seriously put at risk or even hit. Crowley might drive like a maniac but he's always secretly been careful of humans around him. Some of his anxious energy transforms from butterflies to hornets in his stomach.

But that anger is quickly masked when Aziraphale pulls behind that familiar car. The driveway is offset of a cottage that looks uninhabitable. The trees of the Dean Forest are so thick above it that all sun is blocked out. Aziraphale would believe that it was dusk instead of early afternoon. The cottage it's self isn't any more welcoming. It's, from what Aziraphale can tell, a Tudor revival that's been consumed by English ivy. Ceramic tile shingles have come dislodged and slipped down the roof. It looks like at least one of the upstairs window panes is broken out. Aziraphale can't believe that anyone is living here.

After studying the cottage in disbelief for a minute he decides to prepare what he needs to say.

"Crowley," his voice says the name in a horse shadow of a word. He isn't sure the last time he spoke that name. It's been too long but it's taste is a familiar bitter-sweet on his lips.

Aziraphale clears his throat and tries again, "Crowley. I- first I need to tell you how, just how sorry I am. The way that we left things, it was wrong of me to leave that way and it was wrong of you- No, I can't say that." He chapels his fingers. "I'm sorry it took me too long to say this. I-I've been gone too long- know that I've wanted to right things every day- well it's hard to guage what exactly a day is in heaven. I'm sure you remember." Aziraphale huffs. He shakes his head.

"My point is," he goes on, "very often I thought to return and right my wrongs. It's-" He dips his head. There's no justification. "It just- it never felt like the right time." God that's a sorry excuse.

The next part Aziraphale has put quite a bit of thought into, he wouldn't be here now if he hadn't thought this through. It comes easier, "Armageddon is here again," he pauses, letting the gravity of it settle. "I need your help, Crowley. Humanity, the world, is about to cease to exist."

Aziraphale wets his lips. "The Second Coming, Judgment Day, the Rapture- the whole lot is upon us." He chuckles, such an absurd thing to do but he does. "Everything we did to stop it will've been moot. I need your help," he says as if he were practicing for a presentation. "We must do something to stop it," he forms a knife-hand to stress this.

He's satisfied with his rehearsal (more-so the second bit). That means it's time for the real thing. He realizes that himself. The fingers of his knife-hand curl slowly like the legs of a dying spider.

Aziraphale turns his attention to the front door. He takes a deep, slow breath. Only God knows what waits behind that door but Aziraphale can take a pretty decent guess that it'll be the Devil's wrath.

"Okay," he says to himself and opens the car door.

***
Ooooo are you guys excited? Nervous? Here we go, right?
Phantom Pain by Girl in Red is the Good Omens song.