An Ineffable History

Chapter Nine: All the sins you have never had the courage to commit.

London, England, 1899

Aziraphale stepped towards him, holy light glinting in his eyes.

"Angel?" Crowley had never been afraid of Aziraphale per-se. Aware that the angel could smite him whenever he felt like it, yes- but never afraid. Until now; Aziraphale stepped towards him and Crowley was frozen in place under the holy stare. Everything seemed far away somehow, both there and not there. Aziraphale reached his hand up and cupped Crowley's face, running a finger over his tattoo. He leaned forward and gently brushed his lips over Crowley's in a whisper of a kiss. Crowley leaned forward, trying to-

The ground dropped from underneath him and suddenly he was in heaven. The battle was raging around him and everywhere he looked angels and demons were dying in blazes of holy light or hellfire. Aziraphale stood facing him, flaming sword in his hand and looking every bit the soldier Crowley forgot he was. Aziraphale looked at the sword in his hand, as if it were foreign to him. He dropped the sword and ran to Crowley, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Crowley buried his face in the angel's curls, pulling Aziraphale up against him. Aziraphale lifted his head and looked at Crowley, his brilliant blue eyes panicked.

"Crowley I-"

Crowley was helpless to do anything as Aziraphale stiffened, pain creeping onto his face as he went limp, the light draining from his eyes. Crowley fell to his knees as Aziraphale lay dying in his arms.

"Aziraphale, angel please, tell me what to do."

"Crowley-"

Aziraphale gripped his shirt, clinging onto him with all the energy he had left. Crowley was forced to watch as Aziraphale sighed one last time, as he released his grip on Crowley's shirt. Holy light enveloped Aziraphale, consuming what remained of the angel and Crowley was burning. The holy light destroying his essence from the inside out. He leaned forward, cradling the remains of the angel's body in his arms as the light kept burning, burning-

Crowley shot awake, a silent scream in the back of his throat. It took him a moment to catch his bearings, to realize that he was not burning, that Aziraphale was not dead in his arms. He closed his eyes, trying to control his racing heartbeat. Really, these human bodies could be horribly inconvenient. He opened his eyes after a few minutes, taking in the room around him. He was alone, in the bedroom in his flat, the heavy black curtains blocking making the room almost pitch black.

Crowley pushed the sheets off and stood up, walking over to the curtains. He pulled them back and looked outside. It looked like it was summer now, odd, since Crowley could have sworn there was snow on the ground when he went to sleep. He turned back to the room, noticing the layer of dust that had accumulated on every surface, and then disappeared as soon as Crowley glared at it.

He examined his flat meticulously, making sure that it had remained exactly the same way as it was when he had slept, and it had. (Not that Crowley had expected anything less.) The food was still good and the lamps were still full, lighting themselves as Crowley passed. After everything had been inspected and found to his liking, Crowley went to the nearest window and watched as people passed on the street. He inspected the men's clothes and miracled something he liked; A dark red coat with black accented lapels and sleeves, a black button up shirt, and well-fitting black trousers. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he opened up the door from his flat for the first time in who knows how long, and found the area much the same as when he had last seen it. There was more smoke in the air- presumably from more factories. That in itself wasn't surprising, what was surprising was the way that ash seemed to coat the city in a grey fog. The humans really had gotten quite carried away, hadn't they?