in which crowley asks god for aziraphaleâs hand in marriage
(or well, not so much asks, but informs Her that itâs happening with or without her blessing)
Crowley sighed, trying to keep still; after years of trying to gain tolerance, it was still hard to stand on consecrated grounds. âLook, I want him. I know heâs your best angel and the only one worth even a fraction of your divinity with the rest of your lot being absolute tossersââ he sighed, shuddering a breath as his feet burned.
He looked up at the stained glass, spilling color beautifully onto the floor before him. âBut I love him. And he loves me, believe it or not. And honestly, I still canât believe it myself. Lucky bastard I am, right?â
But even its light refused to reach him.
âAnd I know it doesnât mean anything if I askedâbut to be clear, Iâm not. âcause Iâm marrying him anyways. Thatâs right. A demon and an angel, in un-holy-holy matrimony. Because he chose me damn you, and I love him for who he is while you only loved him for obeying and Iââ
No. His cries and pleas were wasted here. Millennia of nothing but silence has taught him this.
But for Aziraphaleâheâd do anything. âAll I ask isâŚthat you donât make him suffer for his choice. Because Iâm a demon. And Iâm selfish enough to want to be his choiceâŚeven if itâs not the right one.â
Donât make him fallâdonât cast him out because of me. Donât hurt him because of me.
âSoâjust. Just stay out of it all right? Just. Keep quiet and donât answerâdonât say anything.â He swallowed back lifetimes of bitterness. âYouâre good at that.â
He was greeted with silence, just as he expected. The light filtering through dimmed and the colors washed away. Crowley felt his heart sink.
âWeâre not getting married in a church, thatâs for bloody certain,â he muttered as he turned away. âSo. Yeah. Just letting you know.â
He exited the church, heart heavy for reasons he didnât want to give thought, to give voice to.
As he stepped out onto the gray London day, a crash of lightning bellowed through the skies and for one, horrible moment, Crowley thought God Herself was storming down from the heavens to smite him where he stood.
Instead, a downpour fell, and Crowley watched wordlessly as passerby pedestrians scrambled for shelter at the torrential rain that followed. He himself was getting soaked to the bone but he did little more than stand still, feet still burning, though the pain was lessened somehow.
Well, he was, until he felt a familiar presence beside him.
âYouâre getting soaked, dear.â Crowley looked up and found a familiar canopy of white feathers hanging over him. He chuckled and stepped closer.
Aziraphale looked at him, a quiet expression on his lovely face. Crowley expected him to ask a question, but this one wasnât the one heâd expected: âHmâŚdoesnât this seem familiar?â He gave a laugh when he was met with confusion. âLike when we first met.â
Crowleyâs eyes widened, something in his heart swelling with something like gratitude, something like hope as he cast his eyes to the sky. âYeah,â he managed to get out as Aziraphale laced their fingers together, a smooth metal band on his marriage hand warm against Crowleyâs skin. âMy thoughts exactly.â
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