Ineffable Omens (Crowley x Aziraphale)

What He Always Dreamed Of But Never Wanted

Crowley tapped his foot nervously, staring out the bookshop window at the busy street outside as he absentmindedly stirred his tea. He had been stirring it for the last five minutes as Aziraphale gushed over their new situation. He was absolutely thrilled, and part of Crowley wanted to be happy that his partner was so happy, but he couldn't help feel ... confused.

Sure, he had dreamed on occasion of being an angel again. In the early day after his fall he would have done anything to get his halo back. But now ... that just wasn't who he was. He'd make a horrible angel, but he was one fine demon. He just wasn't, well, good. He could do good things, but the constant pressure of having to be good all of the time ... it wasn't healthy for anyone. At least not for him.

He looked tempting people. Fomenting discord. He liked ... he liked the option of being bad. He liked being able to lash out when he was angry and lose his temper when he wanted to. He liked having, well, freedom, of a sort. There was no freedom for people like him, but Crowley couldn't survive the suffocating title of an angel.

"I—I need to get out of here for a bit," Crowley interjected, almost sharply, like the words wouldn't come out if he didn't force them. "Just need some fresh air."

"Oh! I could join you for a walk if you'd like!" Aziraphale said excitedly.

"No, thank you, but no," Crowley said, standing up quickly and in the process, accidentally knocking his tea over and spilling it all over the table, floor, and front of his jacket.

"Oh dear, I've got it," Aziraphale said, rushing at him with paper towels.

"No, no, It's alright," Crowley said, about to miracle away the mess. He paused when he realized he'd be doing an angelic miracle, and he wanted no part of that. He left the mess and stormed out of the apartment. He got in his Bentley and put the pedal to the metal, driving much faster than it seemed possible for the Bentley could go. It wasn't my miracle that he didn't hit any pedestrians or other roadway users, he was all done with miracles now, but rather he was simply an insanely good, albeit reckless, driver.

He kept driving for as long as he could until he was far away from the city. He slammed on the breaks and pulled off the road. He slammed his fist into the ceiling of the Bentley, leaving a dent. He climbed out of the car and stumbled onto the grass next to the road. He could barely walk, hyperventilating and shaking, every muscle in his body uncontrollably tense. He wished he could expel the the holiness from his body, fight back in some way. He took a deep breath and tried to regain some sort of stability and focused thought.

His phone vibrating interrupted his thoughts, and he answered the call.

"Listen, dear, I know this is all somewhat new for you," Aziraphale said. "but you'll pick it back up again in no time. I was thinking we could go shopping tomorrow. You know we all wear white. I'm afraid there is a dress code." Crowley didn't say anything. "I know you liked being a demon, but think about it this way, now we can be together ... with no fear. No one to frown upon it, no chance of falling, no wrath of Heaven or Hell or the Almighty." He was met with silence. "Crowley?"

"I'm going to spend the night at my flat," Crowley said. "You're welcome to join me if you want."

The words had no emotion to them. They were short and crisp, as if he were simply stating facts and couldn't care one way or another whether Aziraphale joined him or not.

He realized his angel did have a point, though. For their relationship to continue, maybe being an angel was the only way. Crowley had to go on a shopping trip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aziraphale was concerned for his friend and waited up at Crowley's flat for hours until the demo—angel—finally arrived. It was getting late, with the sun almost gone beneath the city skyline but a dark grey haze still in the sky. It was a cold night, and moisture clung to every surface, a white fog rolling in from the hills. Aziraphale peered out the window, his breath fogging up the glass slightly. Out of the mist came a tall lanky figure, white wings cutting through the fog. He was in his usual outfit, only it was white, and his silver scarf now sparkled gold.

"There he is," Aziraphale said with a smile. "My angel."

Crowley, on the other hand, was dying inside. He had previously promised himself he would only wear white on his wedding day.