Good Omens Fix-It -- Chapter 5: The Divinity Archives
Chapter 5 of 16
Chapter 5: The Divinity Archives
Rating: PG
note: Beelzebub is referred to with she/her in this fic
Alpha Centauri - Planet Aclamah
Beelzebub lifted her grey eyes, wetness threatening to spill over onto her skin, “Promise me we’ll come back here, together.”
Gabriel gave a fond smile, taking both of her hands in his, “Of course, Bug.”
The former Grand Duke stood slightly on her toes to quickly kiss him before saying, “Alright, let’s get this over with.”
Holding each other’s hands, the pair vanished, miracling away from purple sands in a group of fiery lightning strikes.
Prodding moodily at his cell phone from Aziraphale’s chair, Crowley noticed a few feeble flames appear in the corner; he set his phone down and stood slowly, taking a suspicious, hesitant step toward the location, where a weak puff of smoke repeatedly appeared before drifting out of existence. The demon instinctively jumped back as a small cluster of lightning bolts struck in the same spot. When it vanished, Gabriel was standing in its place.
“Hello,” Gabriel said, then he looked toward the entrance to the bookshop, “You called Beelzebub. Can you let her in?”
“Here? Now?” Crowley asked, disbelieving.
Gabriel gave a nod, “You did ask for help, didn’t you?”
With a tilt of his head back and forth, Crowley replied, “Well…yeah, but not from you.”
“Well, I’m already here.”
“I noticed,” the redhead replied, “Beelzebub’s outside?” He strode to the door and swung it open to see his former boss standing a few feet away, scowling at him. With a stern raise of his thin index finger, he spoke, “This is a one-time deal. You can’t just pop back in whenever you like, got it?”
Beelzebub rolled her eyes, “Why would I want to?” She brushed past him and into the store, immediately going to stand at Gabriel’s side.
“Was that you, trying to get in here? The flame and smoke?” Crowley asked.
“You’d think demons wouldn’t have to get permission to come in anymore, since you’re in charge of the place now,” Beelzebub remarked moodily.
“Me? In charge of this place?” Crowley asked. “Nope. Muriel is.”
Beelzebub didn’t seem at all interested as she and Gabriel took the liberty of sitting on the sofa in the little alcove, “Right, you said you needed a favor…”
Crowley strode back to sit in Aziraphale’s armchair, idly running his finger over the patch of worn material on the arm, “I need to get into Heaven. The old files. The really old ones. From before anything else; wherever those are is where whatever I need is, most likely.”
“You don’t even know what you’re looking for?” Gabriel cocked his head.
“I don’t. The furniture isn’t there.”
Beelzebub looked completely confused, but Gabriel gave an understanding nod, “Right.”
Beelzebub rolled her gray eyes again, “You two aren’t making any sense. But, if you want to get into Heaven’s secure files, I could - potentially - help…for a price. What’s in it for us?”
“What, is helping a dear friend not enough for you?”” Crowley asked.
“We’re not friends, Crowley. You helped Gabriel when he needed it - that’s all.”
The demon leaned dramatically forward, “That’s all? That’s all? You realize Azira - he - was almost erased from the Book of Life for that, right? Why do you two get to go off and have a happy ending and we don’t?”
“It won’t be easy to convince him,” Gabriel remarked.
Crowley all but snarled, “I know that. I have to show him something…”
“What?” Beelzebub questioned.
“Not sure, exactly,” he answered, “Maybe if he sees how many angels have had their memories taken…”
Beelzebub gave an ironic, performative laugh, “Thousands…but that means we’d have to access the Divinity Archives.”
Gabriel started shaking his head almost frantically.
“You and I will need some sort of a disguise, but Gabriel will be able to vouch for us, right, my sweet?” Beelzebub looked at him; seeing his wide eyes and constant head shaking back and forth, Beelzebub placed her hand on his, “Gabriel?”
“The Divinity Archives are restricted. Only God and The Metatron can access them.”
With a sly smile, Beelzebub said, “I set up the security up there. Only God and The Metatron are supposed to be able to access them.”
Gabriel eyed her suspiciously, “It’s forbidden.”
“Yeah, well, a lot of things are, but it doesn’t mean they should be,” she focused back on Crowley, “What am I getting out of this?”
“You don’t think there’s a file up there with your name on it? Wouldn’t you like to know what Heaven erased from your mind?”
With a sneer that exposed the left side of her sharp teeth, Beelzebub huffed, “Alright, traitor.”
Standing, Beelzebub looked down at her outfit then eyed Crowley’s; with a heavy sigh, she lifted a hand to gesture, miracling herself into a light cream pair of pants and a fitted suit jacket, also restoring Gabriel’s silver suit.
Crowley raised an eyebrow, “Take it you’re helping me?”
“And don’t you forget it,” Beelzebub marched out of the bookshop and down to the Dirty Donkey, miracling the elevator to Heaven and Hell into existence, leaving Crowley and Gabriel behind.
The angel and demon looked at each other for a moment.
“Seems less moody,” Crowley commented of his former boss as Gabriel left the bookshop; Crowley paused briefly before miracling himself into a horrifyingly plain winter white and grey suit, changing his glasses to gold then practically sprinting to catch up to Beelzebub and Gabriel in the elevator.
The former Supreme Archangel’s brow was tight, “Should we really be doing this, Bug?”
“Aw, you’ve got a little nickname, have you?” Crowley teased Beelzebub, who scowled at him.
“You call Aziraphale Angel,” Gabriel pointed out.
“Yeah. Well. Ngk.” Crowley tried to respond, “Well, he is an angel, isn’t he? Not a nickname. A statement of fact.”
He prodded the H button moodily and the trio were off, elevating slowly. Crowley felt his throat tighten and his yellow eyes sting; the last time this elevator had ascended, it had taken his best friend up beyond where the demon was able to follow without a ruse.
Crowley barely had time to swallow back his tears before the doors opened again. Pressing his glasses into his face to make absolutely certain the emotion in his eyes remained hidden, Crowley swallowed hard.
The Former Supreme Archangel and the former Grand Duke of Hell stepped out of the elevator; Gabriel looked around uncomfortably, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Shush,” Beelzebub said, tugging him further into the open atrium before snapping at Crowley, “This was your idea, now come on!”
Crowley gave a small, stiff nod, pulling his jacket down and strode out of the lift, trying to appear confident; he clapped his hands once, “Right. The Divinity Archives, you say? We’ll follow, oh fearless leader,” he bowed ironically to Beelzebub.
With a roll of gray eyes, Beelzebub walked down the open corridor, Gabriel hesitating for several moments. The former Grand Duke of Hell strode confidently, head held high; Crowley hurried to catch up, then immediately started walking backward as he spotted Michael and Uriel approaching from the opposite direction. Beelzebub smiled and gave a chipper wave to the two archangels as they passed.
“You do know you didn’t even try to hide or go unnoticed, right?” Crowley hissed.
“For Satan’s sake, Crowley, if you act like you’re not doing anything wrong, it doesn’t matter if you actually are. How did you manage to go so long before Falling?”
“Alright…” Beelzebub stopped abruptly, focusing her attention singularly on remembering something, muttering under her breath, “This way,” they turned and strode down a different, somehow even brighter hallway, the pristine tiles white enough to burn the corneas.
Every once in a while, Beelzebub would pause, glance around, place fingers to her temples, focusing on retrieving long-forgotten memories before deciding which turn to take, wending through a labyrinth of corridors and hallways.
Finally coming to a halt outside of a stone door with a repaired crack down the center of it, Beelzebub placed her hand on the door jamb, frowning slightly, muttering a few words quietly, then gave an exasperated huff, “Gabriel, we need you.”
The former Supreme archangel hesitantly approached, “I don’t want to be involved.”
Beelzebub frowned at him, “Too bad. I need your ring.”
Cautiously, Gabriel slipped off his Supreme archangel ring, slowly dropping it into Beelzebub’s outstretched palm. Beelzebub smiled at him, then turned abruptly and placed the signet of the ring against a small indent in the door jamb; the stone door opened and the demon slipped inside, turning to look apologetically at the former Supreme Archangel as the door closed between them, “Sorry, love; this shouldn’t take long.”
Crowley growled, slamming his hands on the door, “Beelzebub, you wriggling little maggot!”
“Don’t call her that,” Gabriel frowned.
Crowley kicked the solid door, “It’s accurate.”
The ivory walls were suddenly lit by a pulsing red light, a piercing alarm ringing with each flash of color.
“Hell,” Crowley said; Gabriel looked sideways at him.
Beelzebub was sitting on the floor of the storage room, one leg stretched out, the other bent inward as she fiddled with Gabriel’s ring, frowning down at it, occasionally glancing up to another indent on the stile of the archive shelving closest to the only stretch of wall that was free of shelving.
A gentle warmth lightly grazed the air of Beelzebub’s skin, and an angel in a motorized chair appeared in the room.
“Shomrael? What are you -- you shouldn't be here.” Saraqael spoke.
Grey eyes lifted to the angel before narrowing, “What did you just call me?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your previous name.”
“I’m not that person anymore,” Beelzebub said, “So go alert your bosses like a good little angel,” she shooed the other angel away, but Saraqael inched her scooter closer to the demon on the floor.
The angel looked somewhat sad, “They erase the memories of the Fallen, but not those of the angels who knew them…”
“They erased everything, didn’t they?”
The demon shrugged, “Guess so,” and continued to inspect Gabriel’s ring.
“Is Gabriel here?” Saraqael questioned before smiling, “After all these eons, you’re still smitten…”
Before the Battle in Heaven
The door to the storage room opened, a tall, broad shouldered angel with violet eyes entering, “Hello, Shomrael. How’s the security upgrade coming along?”
Hopping slightly, startled by the voice, Shomrael turned, her wings suddenly slightly uneven, “G - Gabriel! It’s going well. I just need another five years and it will be impenetrable,” she smiled brightly, smoothing a few untidy feathers of her left wing nervously.
“Excellent work; I’ll put in a good word with the man upstairs,” Gabriel smiled kindly.
Shomrael laughed lightly, “Don’t you mean the man down the hall?”
The Supreme Archangel laughed, making Shomrael’s stomach warm, “I suppose so. You’re sharp,” he placed his hand on Shomrael’s upper arm.
Gabriel tapped on the wooden door to the storage room, causing it to crack open.
Shomrael didn’t even notice him, too intent on turning dials and typing on a holographic keyboard of enochian symbols.
She looked up, wings instinctively fluffing, “Yes, absolutely.”
The Supreme archangel nodded once, “Wonderful.,” he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms as he idly watched the angel on the floor.
“What are you doing?” Shomrael questioned, a bit more demandingly than intended. “I mean…did you need anything, Your Grace?”
Gabriel eyed the slightly disheveled feathers of Shomrael’s wing, “No, just checking in. Making sure everything’s going smoothly. You’ll let me know if you hit any snags?”
“The door should probably be changed to stone, if you want the highest security,” Shomrael spoke, turning from the wall across from the entrance Gabriel had just entered through.
Gabriel looked at her for a moment, nodded, turned to clap his hands once, the door turning from wood to stone; Shomrael flushed.
“Your feather’s poking out,” Gabriel observed, eyeing a slightly displaced feather of Shomrael’s wing.
The angel fumbled, “Oh…I get frazzled and they do that.”
The Supreme Archangel gently tucked Shomrael’s feather back into place, smiling softly down at his subordinate.
Gabriel came, again, to check on the progress of the upgrade; he spoke quietly, “I brought you a piece of cloud. It’s only cumulus, but… well, the floor can’t be very comfortable.”
He did a strange, somewhat clumsy hand motion, and a fluffy portion of a cloud appeared; he guided it to float beside Shomrael, whose face was scarlet.
“I…you…um, thank you, Your Grace.”
Gabriel gave a faint smile, “Your Grace is so formal. I wish you wouldn’t,” he lowered himself to sit on the floor across from Shomrael, “Look, I’m down here with you.”
“There’s just one thing I need, Your Gr - Gabriel,” Shomrael spoke, looking at the Supreme Archangel.
Shomrael felt her wings twitch nervously, “Your…well, your ring. So I can make sure the only way anyone can access the Divinity Archive is with the Supreme Archangel signet.”
Gabriel placed his fingers at the ring on his middle finger, eyeing Shomrael with faux skepticism, “Can I trust you?”
Gabriel slipped off his ring and handed it to Shomrael, their fingers lingering against each other’s for several moments longer than necessary before Gabriel smiled and left the room, Shomrael gazing at the door after he’d gone.
A tall, athletic angel with golden shoulder-length hair strode slowly into the room, “Tsk, tsk, tsk…your ambition extends your reach, Shomrael.”
“What do you know about it?” Shomrael snapped, though her cheeks were aflame.
“Plenty. My ambition extends beyond my reach, as well…but not for long.”
“I’ve told you I don’t want anything to do with it, Lucifer,” Shomrael said, “Leave me alone.”
Lucifer gave a sigh of pity, “Alright, but you know he’ll never truly lower himself all the way down to where he sees you…” he made for the door.
Shomrael frowned, chest aching as Lucifer made it to the threshold, “Wait.”
“Bug has my ring, otherwise I would unlock the door,” Gabriel said before smiling at some fond memory, “You know, she’s the one who said it should be stone instead of wood. For security reasons,” Gabriel laughed lightly, “We’d be able to break down the door if not for that.”
Crowley arched an eyebrow, “You remember…from Before?”
Nodding, Gabriel put his hands in his pockets, “Yes. She was one of the last to Fall. Her name was Shomrael.”
“Don’t go using that name,” Crowley advised, “You wouldn’t survive. Or, if you did, it wouldn’t be a pleasant existence.”
Gabriel took in a deep breath then let it out, “I like Beelzebub better. Shomrael was essentially the same, but…Bug is more confident; doesn’t care what people think about her, so she’s more…authentic, I guess.”
Crowley flicked his gaze over Gabriel, “Huh.”
“I remember you, too, you know.”
The demon glared, “Don’t. Just don’t. I remember enough of it to know I’m not having this conversation.”
“The alarm stopped,” Gabriel commented, and, indeed, it had.
The stone door to the storage room opened; Beelzebub was standing just inside the room, looking somewhat sheepish as Saraqael drove her scooter over the threshold; Crowley tried to make himself smaller, wanting to go unnoticed.
Saraqael, however, paused directly in front of him, “It’s good you’re here…I don’t think these two would be able to get the key without you.”
Yellow eyes, hidden behind gold sunglasses, shifted to Saraqael, “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ll let The Grand Duke explain it to you,” Saraqael drove off.
Beelzebub stepped to Gabriel, taking his hand, “I forgot it locked down like that; you didn’t think I betrayed you, did you?”
“I did,” Crowley commented, “Do you want to tell me what all that was about?”
Crowley huffed, “Surprise, surprise. Guessing Saraqael turned off the alarm?”
“Yes,” Beelzebub confirmed. Her grey eyes found Crowley, “The Divinity Archives require the Supreme Archangel’s ring.”
“Good thing you’ve got it then,” Crowley said.
Beelzebub looked at Crowley, “Gabriel isn’t the Supreme Archangel anymore.”
Crowley took a step backward, “No. No, no, no, no, no…”
“Didn’t you want to show him anyway?”
“Once I found it; not before,” Crowley hissed, “No. I’m not asking for his help – absolutely not. No. Won’t happen.”
Beelzebub took a threatening step toward the demon, “I risked my neck so you could get to these files, and you’re backing out because you don’t want to see your ex-boyfriend? Pathetic.”
“He’s not my ex-boyfriend, Beelzebub; we’re friends,” Crowley snarled.
Beelzebub shrugged, “Then there’s no reason you can’t talk to him, is there?”
Growling at the ceiling, Crowley snapped, “Fine. But I’m not getting permanently discorporated unless you do, too.” He turned on his heel and strode down the alabaster corridor, leaving the other two behind.
Stalking down the main hallway of Heaven, he flung his arms up in exaggerated nonchalance, announcing, “Unauthorized demon in Heaven! Red alert! Security!”
Nothing happened; no angels descended upon him, no alarms rang out. Crowley snarled, “Fine! I’m here, blaspheming the Supreme Archangel Aziraphale; he’s not fit to run Heaven and should be demoted immediately!”
A golden burst of light appeared in front of the demon, and Aziraphale stood, eyebrows slightly lifted, “Crowley!” His voice was relieved, soft, and genuine.
Crowley gave a deep bow, “Your Excellence.”
Aziraphale tossed his hand up, “Don’t do that, Crowley. Nothing’s changed.”
“Oh, nothing’s changed? You mean you’re still on our side? You mean you didn’t go back on everything you’ve ever said? Am I in a different universe?”
The Supreme Archangel sighed, “Well…not everything has changed. I’m still on our side, but I’m on it…via Heaven.”
“Via Heaven? Really? Come on, Angel…”
“What do you want, Crowley?”
The demon glared, “I need to show you something.”
Aziraphale started to turn away, “I don’t have time to take a field trip to Earth.”
“Good thing it’s in Heaven.”
“I do beg your pardon?” Aziraphale looked back at his oldest friend.
Crowley shook his head in sad disbelief, “They’re not telling you everything, Angel.”
Blue eyes narrowed skeptically, “How do you mean?”
“Come on,” Crowley gestured for the angel to follow him and turned back to stride to the storage area, hearing Aziraphale huff quietly and trail behind him.
When the angel caught up, he asked, “How are…things?”
“Peachy. Fantastic. Couldn’t be better,” Crowley said flatly.
When the pair made it back to the hallway where Gabriel and Beelzebub were waiting, Aziraphale stopped, “What are they doing here?”
“Helping,” Crowley said simply.
“Aziraphale,” Gabriel greeted the blonde.
Beelzebub only scowled at the Supreme Archangel.
“What’s all this about?” Aziraphale asked.
Placing his ring against the insert on the door frame, Gabriel answered, “Crowley wants to show you something.” The stone door opened; leaving the ring in the notch allowed the door to stay open long enough for Aziraphale and Crowley to both enter, but it closed behind them, sealing off each of the two pairs.
Aziraphale looked around at the room, the shelves were packed with files, Manila folders tucked tightly together, filling every shelf on each wall, “These - these shelves were empty. I’ve been here before.”
Crowley took off his glasses and rubbed his thumb and index finger on his eyes, “Classified files. Only visible if you’ve unlocked the room with the Supreme Archangel ring…or, apparently, the former Supreme Archangel ring.”
“But why?” Aziraphale took a tentative step toward a shelf, “What does Heaven have to hide?”
Crowley snorted. “Memories. These are memory files; of all the angels who had their memories wiped.”
“All of these?” Aziraphale asked, his eyes scanning the spines reading Zadkiel, Remiel, Hael, Muriel, Jophiel, Raziel, Raphael, and others. “There must be thousands!” Aziraphale exclaimed.
The demon hesitated before taking a small step toward Aziraphale, “That - that’s not all, Angel. I needed your ring to get to the Divinity Archives…the real secret ones.”
Aziraphale eyed Crowley, “This isn’t secret enough?”
Crowley gave a slightly sad smile and shook his head, “Over here.”
They stepped to the unit beside the empty section of wall, Aziraphale looking worried.
The demon gestured to the indent in the stile of a shelf, “Your ring unlocks it.”
Blinking numbly, Aziraphale slipped off his ring and handed it to Crowley.
With a deep breath, Crowley placed the Supreme Archangel’s ring in the notch and pressed; a door appeared on the empty section of wall.
“Are you sure about this, Crowley?”
“Let’s see, shall we?” Crowley opened the door and stepped into the fairly small, very dim space, Aziraphale tentatively following.
The angel huffed, “Let there be light,” he snapped his fingers and the room became less dim, though not fully lit, the grey stone walls seeming to suck any excess light from the area.
The angel and demon saw a small, plain cabinet in the center of the room; Aziraphale swallowed and took a step toward it. Crowley watched as the angel slowly pulled out the single drawer and peered inside to thumb through the files., reading the names under his breath, “Zachariah, Tamiel, Shomrael, Sandalphon, Ramiel - I’ve heard about him -, Kokabel, Gadreel, Gabriel - oh., Ezekiel, Duma, Castiel, Balthazar, Baraqael, Aziraphale, Azazel…” he paused briefly.
“Wait…They’ve wiped my memory?”
Crowley sighed, “I’m sorry, Angel.”
Aziraphale set his jaw, turning back to the cabinet, “Well, I have to see,” he removed his file from the drawer with determination.
“Don’t, Angel. No good can come from it.”
With a glance of dismissal at Crowley, Aziraphale opened the file. For a heartbeat, nothing. Then the grey stone room of the Archive was gone, and there was only heat and darkness for a few moments before Aziraphale was standing on the bank of a wide, gently flowing river that he instinctively knew was The Nile.
The Land of Egypt1446 BC
The bustling crowds of the markets were insignificant, unimportant, to Aziraphale. He stepped toward the Nile, until the wet sands of the bank lapped at his sandals. The angel outstretched his hand, an archangel ring on his little finger; as his palm hovered over the serene water, the clear water transformed into a thicker, scarlet liquid, the blood continuing its eddies and flow through the land.
Roughly ninety seconds passed before there were shrill screams and loud exclamations from downstream; with a small smirk of satisfaction, the angel turned away, and the memory faded out.
Another memory snapped into place: Aziraphale standing in solitude, the dry, mineral-rich sands of the desert blowing slightly around his calves; the land was cracked, the effects of the river no longer watering the area evident. The angel closed his aqua eyes and quietly whispered, “Tsephardea,” causing thousands of frogs to emerge from the sands and hop toward the city.
Over the next month, Aziraphale spoke the infestation of lice, then of flies, onto the land.
He was engulfed in a new memory: walking along a street of packed dirt, blonde head turning slowly from side to side, taking in the pastures and livestock pens, grass and wooden structures bloodied and littered with deceased cattle, sheep, and goats. The blade of the sica at his side was drenched in scarlet.
Aziraphale’s fingers tightened on the file. He hadn’t remembered the weight of the sword at all, much less it feeling so natural in his hand.
The angel watched himself again, hands lifted in a silent command, causing pustulent boils to flower on the skin of every living creature, looking on with a detached sort of satisfaction, then again as hail shattered stone, as locusts stripped the fields bare.
The memory overtook him as he was forced to recall waving a lazy hand across the air, engulfing the country in darkness so thick it was tangible, unconcerned with the terror instilled within the citizens.
The memory faded, itself to darkness before yet another took its place.
Aziraphale barged through the sycamore door of a mudbrick home, strode past a young man and his wife, not even acknowledging them; the angel swept into the adjoining room, his cobalt eyes focusing on a woven rush basket. He made his way to the infant, hovered over the woven reed basket and laid an icy hand upon the baby’s small chest. The boy shuddered once — then lay still.
The angel left the house, the wailing of the mother piercing the midnight air; Aziraphale marched on, down the dirt street to the next house.
Once again, he entered the home unannounced and uninvited, breezed through the room where a very young woman was sleeping peacefully in a thatched bed, straight to another woven basket in which a baby of roughly three months was swaddled; Aziraphale brought a freezing hand and to the child’s forehead and the infant breathed no more.
House after house, street after street, Aziraphale silently ended the lives of child after child.
Aziraphale slipped through yet another door like mist, went to a small alcove where an infant slept peacefully; with a cold hand to its forehead, the baby’s heart fell still.
He passed through the streets, entering every home not marked with lamb’s blood and extinguishing the eldest child’s life.
Aziraphale swept like mist into yet another mud brick home, approached a small room and looked at a little thatched bed, in which a child of seven slept peacefully; as he approached, the young boy stirred, rolled over, and opened his eyes to look directly at the angel.
“Wh - what are you doing here?” the boy questioned innocently; the shrieking from neighboring homes rang out and the small child’s eyes were suddenly full of terror.
Aziraphale silently lifted a freezing hand, placed it to the child’s cheek. Brown, tearful eyes went wide for a moment before the child collapsed, lifeless, back onto the bed.
In the Archive, Aziraphale threw the file away from himself, face soaked with tears. He choked out, “I - I did…how could I? All of those horrors! I was the one responsible!” The angel bawled into his trembling hands for several moments before turning to look with waterlogged eyes at Crowley, “Egypt. The plagues. I did that; I did all of that.”
He fell against the demon’s chest, sobbing into it, “I’m a horrible, terrible, wretched thing! The - the children! Cr - Crowley - I slaughtered them.”
Crowley didn’t say anything; he glared at the file setting on the opened drawer as he wrapped an arm around Aziraphale, resting his angular chin atop blonde curls, “Oh, Angel…you really shouldn’t have looked.”
“Did - did you know?” Aziraphale sniffed, voice trembling as he blinked up at Crowley, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Snaking his other arm around the angel, Crowley answered, “Course not.”
“Of course you didn’t…how could you?” The angel wept quietly into Crowley’s chest for a long time, the demon never despising Heaven more.
Neither were sure how long Aziraphale cried into Crowley’s shirt, but when Aziraphale finally lifted his face, it was set with resolve, despite being damp.
“I have to make sure nothing like that ever happens again, Crowley; I have to stay here and make things better.”
Shaking his head in fond disbelief, Crowley sighed, “You can’t change anything, Angel. But you’re gonna try your damnedest, aren’t you?”
Aziraphale frowned, “My hardest, Crowley; I’m going to try my hardest. You understand, don’t you?”
Crowley snarled, “No. I don’t understand. But you wouldn’t be Aziraphale if you didn’t try, would you?”
“I do hope you’ll forgive me.”
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