ineffable husbands - 21 and/or 22. just fucking rip my heart out.
20. âIâll die without you.â21. âI never loved you.âA/N: Donât worry! Itâs a happy ending! ***
âDonât you understand?â Aziraphale was saying, a sardonic smile on his perfect pink lips.
Crowley shook his head, confused.
The ground beneath Crowleyâs feet seemed to shift, and he blinked to clear his vision.
âWhat?â he whispered more than spoke, unable to formulate any other response.â
Aziraphale scoffed, interlacing his fingers primly and looking at Crowley with what seemed like a mixture of pity and disgust.
âHow absurd,â Aziraphale said. âThe idea that a Holy Angel of God,â he held his hands up, indicating himself, âcould love a creature like you. Worse than love, in any acceptable, angelic sense. But fall in love?! The very phrase is blasphemous.â
He laughed, and it was cold and hateful and sounded nothing like any other laughter Crowley had ever heard come out of Aziraphale in the past. Nothing like the little peels of bubbling laughter that poured out of the angel he knew. This was not the angel he knew. Had he ever really known him?
Crowley bit back tears, holding himself together by a thread.
âDemon,â Aziraphale said, biting. âHateful, unforgivable thing that you are. I donât know who in Heaven decided I should be subjected to the last 6000 years of my own personal purgatory sharing this planet with you.â
He stood up straighter, tugging at his waistcoat. âBut, at last, my trial is over. Whatever they were hoping to learn is accomplished, and I finally get to go home.â
âHome?â Crowley said, still barely capable of speech.
âYes,â the angel said, eyes glistening. âHome to Heaven, and away from you. Perhaps theyâll give me a medal for service above and beyond the call of duty.âÂ
He cringed, as if remembering something particularly foul. âI should have at least earned a commendation just for the disgusting torment of kissing those foul, infernal lips. Ugh, and that serpent tongue. Disgusting.â
Crowley physically recoiled. âAziraphaleâŚâ
The angel flinched, as if heâd been struck. âDonât! Say that name â ever again. You havenât the right, cursed one.â
And now it was Crowleyâs turn to flinch â he felt like he was back in the burning bookshop, the force of water from a firemanâs hose hitting him full in the chest, knocking him off his feet without warning.
âAngel⌠please. Why are you doing this?â
âIt was always the plan, demon. It was only ineffable to you; were you really so stupid you couldnât realize it was all too good to be true?â
And with that, he laughed, unfurled his wings, and produced a flaming sword from nowhere.
The last thing Crowley saw was holy scorching fire.
He sat bolt upright in bed, a cold sweat running down his back and neck, tears wetting his face.
âWhat theâ bloody Hell⌠Fuck!â he stammered, throwing off the sheets in a heap.
âDarling?â A soft voice came from the hall. âEverything all right?â
Crowley crumpled into a ball at the sound of Aziraphaleâs voice. He was standing in the doorway to Crowleyâs bedroom with, of all things, a candle in hand. He was wearing blue and white striped pajamas with a stocking cap, and looked for all the world like a protagonist in an old Dickens novel.
âOh,â said the angel, coming into the room and setting the light down on a side table. âMy dear, whatever is the matter?â
Crowley was openly sobbing into his bedsheets now, more with relief than anything. It was a dream â a dream, only a god blessed nightmare. But it had felt so real. So unbelievably real. He could still hear that hateful, cruel laughter coming out of the mouth of the angel he loved more than anything in all of Creation â on Earth, Above, or Below.
Aziraphale was next to him, crawling back into bed.
âThere, there, my dearest. Whatâs happened?â
He was curling his arms around Crowley, pulling him into a warm, welcoming embrace. This was real. This was everything, Crowley told himself. It wasnât a trap, it wasnât a trick. This was his angel who loved him. Who would never, could never harm him. He had to believe that.
His tears dried on the soft fabric of Aziraphaleâs night shirt, and he sniffled, willing the hyperventilating sobs in his chest to fade away. There were aspects of inhabiting a corporeal body that could be quite inconvenient. The built-in response to cry when upset was one that Crowley had occasionally found truly intolerable.
Aziraphale was smoothing one hand over Crowleyâs hair, the other lying softly on the back of his neck.
âShhh,â he whispered, resting his cheek on the top of Crowleyâs head. âDid you have a bad dream, dear?â
Crowley said nothing at first â then, âDemons donât dream.â
âTrue,â said Aziraphale, having now worked his way into a languid, rocking back and forth motion, âbut you do, on occasion.â
Crowley closed his eyes, leaning into the angelâs embrace ever closer, hiding his face in Aziraphaleâs neck.
âIâll die without you, you know.âÂ
He wasnât sure heâd even said it loud enough for Aziraphale to hear, more of a half-mumbled confession than a real statement.
Aziraphale stopped rocking, leaning back enough to meet Crowleyâs eyes. He frowned, then smiled like a holy man looking upon a divine relic. Or rather, like a holy angel, which he was of course.
âAnd I without you, dearest. But if I have anything to say on the matter, that will never happen.â
Crowley smiled, hesitantly. âI wish I had your confidence.â
âMy dear,â Aziraphale said. âAfter everything weâve been through â they should live in fear of us, now. Because if they ever decide to test me again, I wonât need a flaming sword to keep the monsters at bay.â
He kissed Crowley softly, guiding him back down onto the bed, and into a sweet, dreamless sleep.
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