Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Chaos. Chaos everywhere. Voices clamouring. A buzz in the air. Everyone was edgy and skittish. 

Something was happening, and none of it was good. 

Aziraphale was swept along by a swarm of angels who seemingly had an objective to fill. A quiet determination rested on their faces and their feet fell into a quick-paced thundering march. Aziraphale had no choice but to go along lest he be trampled by the flurry of angels. 

He looked about frantically, trying to glean what could possibly be spurring them on. All eyes were fixed ahead, bodies steady. Aziraphale recognised these looks in their eyes. He remembered them from the Great War. The same drive. The same passion. The same motivations. These angels were the same soldiers pushing forwards to confront the enemy.

A heaviness settled in the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach. “What’s going on?” he finally asked. “Where are we going?” 

He was shoved forward, angels behind him stepping on the back of his robes intermittently with an impatience he’d not witnessed for centuries. Angels were normally calm, serene and ethereal, not irritable, hasty and restless. It was uncharacteristic for beings like this to act in such a way.

An angel next to him, who kept jabbing at his ribs with their elbow as they fell into step with the crowd, leaned in to speak, voice fighting with the impassioned vocalisations around them. “We’re going to see a traitor get justice served,” they said, sheer excitement ablaze in their eyes. It was almost animalistic and feral—a deep-seated hunger that could only be sated by a rebel getting their just desserts. 

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “Who?” 

“Nobody knows, but apparently he’s got too big for his boots. Thought he was better than the Almighty. Gonna get what he deserves.” 

Aziraphale held back a scoff. Better than the Almighty indeed! No angel was better than the Almighty. The very idea was preposterous. A similar intensity took root in his chest and he found himself following this herd mentality of praying for the traitor’s downfall. 

It was rather unlike him to feel this sort of raw malice, but his allegiance was to his Lord. She was the true power and voice of reason. If she deemed someone a traitor, then they were a traitor through and through. 

Having witnessed the Fall, he knew what a traitor looked like. He knew what they acted like. He knew what he was going to see there—someone who had transgressed the rules of Heaven and gone against his most holy Lord. 

Ushered into a large white room, the angels took their places, lining the walls like toy soldiers preparing for battle. Aziraphale stood near the front of the crowd, which encircled a vast beam of celestial light from above.

His eyes were blown wide, his jaw hung open as he realised he was about to hear her for the first time in eons. None of them got to hear from her directly very much, so this was a particularly historic occasion for them. 

Angels around him bowed their heads in respect, averting their gaze from the celestial light. They held a reverence for the Almighty that was shared among their peers. A few, like himself, couldn’t tear their eyes away. How could they pass up the opportunity to bear witness to her in all her glory? They were truly humbled by this moment. He knew that looking away was the respectful thing to do until they were addressed, but he was simply so awestruck that it was impossible. 

He clasped his hands together in front of him, finally moving his gaze towards the other angels again. Hundreds upon hundreds had filled up the room by now, and many were still trying to file in just to catch a glimpse of the traitor. He still wondered who it might be. As he scanned the sea of faces, he clocked many angels he knew closely—ones he’d been working with to fulfil elements of the Great Plan. 

Assigned to work on creatures for Earth, he had a small hand in the creation of new life (sort of). He’d been on the duty of naming each creature as the concepts were made. Butterflies had been his first. He started out small and worked his way up to the stronger and larger animals. His most recently named creatures had been foxes. He found them rather fascinating for their survival abilities. Scavengers which could live in most environments. Resourceful and aloof. He admired them very much. It was just a bonus that they were beautiful to look at. 

In fact, they reminded him of—

Before the thought could fully form in his head, Aziraphale’s attention was taken by the sounds of strong footsteps followed by the stumbling shuffles of another. Him and the other angels watched the far entrance and a ripple of gasps filled the room. 

No. It couldn’t be. 

Aziraphale’s entire body went cold as he stared in abject horror. His world felt like it had stopped, crumbling around his ears. His heart dropped into his stomach and every hair stood on end. Chest barely rising and falling, he found himself unable to take a full breath in. The air was dense, cloying, close. He was suffocating.

He wanted to run, but his body couldn’t be willed to move. The angel was glued to the spot while Kokabiel was dragged into the room and thrown under the celestial light of the Almighty.

And she was not forgiving. 

As if he were under water, the sounds of Kokabiel’s voice and the Almighty’s barely penetrated his ears. Eyes fixed on the starmaker—the angel he had called his friend, the one he’d advised over and over again not to ask such questions, not to give suggestions lest he get in trouble—now forced to bare all for her. 

It was all happening so quickly that he didn’t have a chance to comprehend what was transpiring in front of his eyes. He knew Kokabiel would be in trouble for his presumptuous nature; knew the angel would be punished; understood that this was what happened to the ones who went against her wishes. 

He didn’t think, however, that it would end in Kokabiel falling. Somehow, Aziraphale thought she might take pity on her chosen one; he thought she might forgive him for being naive and curious. So many of the angels showed curiosity, and it wasn’t wholly frowned upon, simply guided in a certain direction. Their Lord had knowledge of all Kokabiel had done to begin the universe. His efforts would not be overlooked. Yet here he was begging for her forgiveness, trying to find a way to prove that he was worthy of staying up in Heaven. If it were anyone else, Aziraphale would have thought it ridiculous to beg for such things when the act of questioning the Lord had been committed. But this was his friend. Someone he’d formed an attachment to. He’d watched as Kokabiel had brought stars to life; watched as he breathed love into the Earth and its surrounding star systems; watched as this angel did as his Lord wanted. And all he asked for in return was clarity. 

Sure, it was starry-eyed of him to think he would get the answers he craved, but to go as far as making him fall? That seemed callous and merciless on the Lord’s part. 

Conflict warred within Aziraphale as he stood witness to this judgement being passed on the starmaker. Despite his loyalty to the Almighty, the angel felt like this was unjustified treatment. Possibly his thoughts were tainted with so much dissent occurring in recent millenia, but was this truly fair? How could Aziraphale say what was fair and what wasn’t? He was meant to serve the Almighty; he wasn’t meant to question her. Up until now, he would have followed that mantra to the end of time itself. 

But something shifted inside him. Something cracked. Something blossomed. A new thought pattern was emerging as he watched this heinous act unfold. 

Through the ringing in his ears and over the thud of his heartbeat, Aziraphale heard Kokabiel begging him to tell the Almighty he was a good angel and he meant no disrespect. 

Of course he meant no disrespect, but intentions don’t always come across in practice.

The fact of the matter was that she had taken offense at Kokabiel’s questions, at his suggestions, and now she was showing her wrath in spades. 

Panicked cries rang out and Aziraphale realised all too late that the ground was primed and ready to swallow Kokabiel whole, and toss him into a pit of boiling sulphur, forging a new demon to join the ever-growing hordes below.

Aziraphale found himself hurled to the ground, hand reaching for the angel, but never quite making the correct contact. Robes were snatched up. A struggle. Disintegrating stone made finding a strong grip point impossible. The terror in the other angel’s eyes was palpable, and Aziraphale knew in his heart that he couldn’t hold on. 

He tried. Oh, how he tried, but his hold was too weak.

The seconds rushed by; Kokabiel was already plummeting fast, and a bone chilling scream filled the space around Aziraphale. 

For a good moment he thought it to be Kokabiel’s, until he was yanked away from the edge by the firm hands of another, and realised that the sound had come from his own mouth. 

Gasps and sobs racked his body as his hands clutched at his chest and lips in equal measure. His heart was racing; his body heaved with the agony of loss. His blue gaze was completely glazed over, blurred with the salty embrace of tears unshed. He couldn’t muster a single word, yet his entire being screamed. 

Ear-splitting, bloodcurdling noises were all that could escape him.  

Even as the piercing stares of the angels around him bore into his soul, Aziraphale wasn’t able to stand. 

He lay crumpled up on the floor, robes creased and flooding the immediate area around him, while his wings were contorted at unnatural angles—angles that should have been excruciating, yet he was too numb to feel. 

Every single pair of eyes in the room was on him. The same disdain, judgement and contempt weighed heavy in the air, and whispers about dissent spread like wildfire. 

“He tried to help the traitor.” 

“Will he be the next one to betray the Lord?” 

“They were in cahoots.” 

“Kokabiel rubbed off on him.” 

“He deserves to fall too.” 

“Traitor.” 

“Traitor!” 

“Traitor!” 

Quiet. 

Be quiet. 

Be quiet, all of you. 

Those words stabbed at him. Jabbed his heart. Slammed against his temples. Violently assaulted all of his senses. 

“Shut up. Shut up, shut up! Shut up!” Aziraphale clamped his hands over his ears. His chest was heaving, heart thudding, head throbbing. “Shutupshutupshutup,” he continued to whisper-yell at himself until he found he was shaking. With what, it was unclear. A deep-seated fire was coursing through his veins, born of fear and rage, seething and mixing to create the most terrifying effect Aziraphale had ever experienced. 

A metallic tang settled across his tongue. It was foreign for an angel unfamiliar with taste. Vile and acrid, it clung to his untrained tastebuds, making him wish to rip his tongue clean out. He clawed at his skin, bringing blood to the surface; tugged at his white-blonde curls, normally so wispy and delicate, now plastered to his skull with sweat. His whole body was crying out in fury and apprehension and panic. 

So. Much. Panic. 

He couldn’t say when he’d been carted out of the vast white room and dumped in his quarters, but as the throbbing finally drained away and his eyes eventually focused again, he felt strangely hollow. 

Emptiness planted itself in his core. It was as if his entire centre was ripped out. 

Heaviness gave way to nausea. Numbness gave way to gnawing agony. Heartache gave way to anguish.

Aziraphale suddenly felt very, very alone. 

Chapter Text

Following Kokabiel’s fall, Heaven carried on as usual. Duties still had to be carried out and the monotony of existence as angels resumed immediately. Everyone was expected to play their part in the Great Plan, even the Metatron. The finishing touches to the Star System Kokabiel should have put in place were given to some other angel who’d shown great enthusiasm in wanting to take over the job. A former friend to the starmaker, they knew much of what he had planned and carefully used the remaining concepts and blueprints to chart out some of the minor details like the constellations of the twelve zodiacs. 

Zodiacs, it seemed, would be a big thing in life on Earth and over centuries, even millennia, they would grow in popularity. The stars themselves would be used to chart so much, including Jesus’ start with Mary and Joseph. The Almighty had said that one star needed to glow brighter than the rest when the time came for three particular wise men to visit him. Aziraphale had been hearing rumours that they would be ordinary men, but then others had floated around that they would be kings. Each would have gifts for the baby and of course, they needed something to guide them. This angel—ex-friend of Kokabiel—was affixing the star to its place on the cosmic map. 

The twelve zodiacs each needed their own place as well. They would each be made visible from Earth, although not all at once. Different times of the year would dictate when they would be able to be seen. It would be unlikely for humans to discover these too early on in their existence on Earth, but when they did, the Almighty had plans for them to be important.

Aziraphale had already gleaned from what he’d witnessed that humans, like the animals he was naming, would be resourceful enough to make meanings for them. Possibly, they would bring more hope. 

However, Aziraphale could feel nothing but despair the more he heard of what should have been Kokabiel’s pride and joy being finalised. He knew just how much had been poured into this entire universe for Her and now it was being attributed to some other angel who only wished to take the credit without the same level of passion. It made him feel sick to his stomach to think what Kokabiel was enduring down there. 

In fact, now that he thought about it, would he even still be named Kokabiel? He was certain names were changed when angels were turned over to Hell. Some sort of system to rid the demons of their roots and make them start anew, apparently. As a serpent, Aziraphale wondered what sort of name the newly appointed demon would have been assigned. Something horrid, he imagined. 

He knew little about serpents, but from what he did know, they seemed very similar to snakes, albeit much larger. Snakes had been the six hundred and sixty-sixth animal concept to name. Now that he thought about it, it seemed rather an ominous number. Dread blossomed in the pit of his stomach as he thought about the characteristics of snakes. Cold-blooded, for one. No eyelids. No limbs. No ears, using vibration to understand surroundings. Praying on small animals. Tasting the air with their tongues. One lung. It seemed like these animals were being dealt a bad hand by the Lord. Perhaps that’s why she’d decided to make Kokabiel something so similar. Falling was his punishment after all; it would make sense for him to become a creature with a marked disadvantage. 

However, he also discovered that they would have multiple defense mechanisms, including their colouration and venom. Similar to foxes, they would be resourceful creatures capable of burrowing into the ground and constricting prey if they were large enough. He had to wonder which, if any, of these characteristics Kokabiel would have. It would be incredibly ruthless of Her to have made him completely useless. 

He was certain the Almighty had done none of this accidentally, wanting Kokabiel to suffer as much as possible. Aziraphale’s heart ached, feeling like a brick was lodged in his chest. 

How could she have forsaken one of her most loyal followers like that?

Aziraphale’s breaths became shallow while his hands covered his face completely, shielding from the bright lights of his quarters. 

He’d moved so little in recent days that a layer of dust had begun to cling to his white hair and robes. His mind had been ticking over causing him to neglect his duties. It was strange that nobody had yet summoned him to work, but after the looks he’d caught in the other angels’ eyes, he didn’t expect anyone to check on him. The majority of them looked poised to spit on him for trying to help Kokabiel. 

That terror filled look flashed in his mind and he pushed the heels of his palms deep into the sockets of his eyes, wanting nothing more than to blot the image out of his brain. 

“Stop…” he whispered to himself. His throat felt like razors and his mouth as dry as sandpaper. 

His brain didn’t cease. It was one of the few curses of being an angel—he couldn’t switch his brain off and just zone out. No matter what he did his mind was active. Even at rest it was racing, moving, on the go. He couldn’t just see a void of blackness. He couldn’t imagine open space with nothing occupying it. His mind was pulsing with ideas and thoughts and feelings. Tormenting him. Torturing him. Every second of every day. It never stopped. 

His fists tangled into his robes and he was acutely aware of the slight uptick in weight on his body. Eyes flicking down, he noticed the layer of dust and could only surmise that this was some cruel joke being played on him. Subtle, yet persistent. 

An animalistic sound emanated from his throat—Aziraphale had made up his mind. He needed to see the Almighty. Now. 

Resigned to his choice, he pushed himself to his feet. 

Every single muscle in his body seared with the rawness of not moving for a week straight. His bones creaked, limbs stiffened; if he’d remained still for any longer he would have been fused to the spot. 

Determination rested in his steely blue eyes as he strode from his quarters directly to the Metatron’s office. He took the same route Kokabiel had taken seven days prior, yet he was fired up with the anger of a thousand suns. He would get his answers or so help him. 

The door slammed open and the Metatron was startled from his work, eyes wide in disbelief at the sheer audacity of Aziraphale to come in unannounced. 

He floundered for words, but the angel before him knew what he wanted to say. 

“I want to speak to the Almighty.” 

The Metatron laughed, though no humour permeated his voice. “You? Are you out of your mind? I will say to you what I said to Kokabiel: you are not worthy enough to speak to her.” 

Aziraphale’s chest was heaving and his nostrils flared with absolute indignation. “I am one of her followers. I’m more than worthy to speak to her.” 

“Perhaps you are deaf—” 

“The only deaf one here is you. Let me speak to the Almighty,” Aziraphale demanded. 

The Metatron’s lips curled into a wicked smirk. “It seems the traitor’s actions have rubbed off on you.” 

In a flash Aziraphale was at the Metatron’s throat, grabbing a fistful of his robes and yanking him up from his chair. “How dare you call him that!” he hissed. “He never betrayed any of us, certainly not the Almighty. He only wanted to serve her! He was a good angel!” 

“Aziraphale, remember your place,” the Metatron warned, eyes boring into the angel. 

The angel’s hardened glare remained on the Metatron, his breathing ragged while he contemplated his options. Harming the Metatron, the literal Voice of God, would do him no favours. He swallowed down his pride and shoved the scribe back into the chair, taking two steps away. He clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking with rage. He was bristling all over. “Forgive me,” he gritted out. “I forgot myself for a moment.” 

“Indeed you did,” the Metatron grumbled, straightening his robes back out. He stood from his seat and squared up to Aziraphale. “Step out of line like that again, and you shall join the starmaker down below. Do you understand, Aziraphale?” 

Aziraphale reluctantly bowed his head in acceptance. “Yes.” 

“Good. Now get out of my sight.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes lingered for a moment before he forced his feet to carry him out of the room. 

If the Metatron wouldn’t cooperate he would need to try another approach. He needed to be more direct. 

Speaking to the Almighty in prayer was rarely done by angels. Usually the Metatron was their main point of contact with her, and after his run-in with the scribe, Aziraphale wondered if their messages were really passed on. He disliked the high and mighty attitude of the Metatron. He was there as the Voice of God, yes, but that worked both ways. In Aziraphale’s eyes, the Metatron was the conduit for communication. Angels didn’t hear from the Lord much, so when they could give a message to her, it was a sacred act. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn of the Metatron holding back these messages because he deemed them unworthy. 

Who was he to decide if the angels’ messages were worthy or not? That was for their Lord to decide. If she deemed something unworthy she could choose to ignore it and that would be that. But the Metatron taking it upon himself to decide this on her behalf? That was arrogant of him. 

Aziraphale’s lips were pursed in thought as he strode down the long corridors of Heaven with one purpose in mind—he had to talk to the Almighty without listening ears and prying eyes. 

So many of those eyes lingered on him now. His own eyes shifted left and right, noting the huddles of angels, scrutinising him. Some wouldn’t look at him—they couldn’t meet his gaze—while others stared him down. There was an edge of threat in their looks, challenging him to stop and stare back. Then came the whispers. He didn’t catch all of them, but he caught words like ‘betrayal’, ‘disloyal’, ‘deception’. The way they viewed him was unmistakable; Aziraphale was tarred with the same brush as Kokabiel had been. He was treasonous in their minds. He was the source of new dissent spreading among the ranks of Heaven. He was a plague and he needed to be eradicated. 

Aziraphale caught the body language of the angels as he passed, and it made his entire being bristle once more. They were closed off, heads bowed away from him, arms folded. Unwelcoming. Fenced off. He felt his chest twist, his stomach tighten, and his jaw clench. 

They saw the way he was acting, and it was strange. He wasn’t himself since the starmaker fell. He’d isolated himself from them, stopped attending to his duties, become aloof. That in and of itself was enough to send their suspicions through the roof. But add to that him heading towards one of the most sacred places in Heaven’s hallowed halls, and it was a recipe for a full scale persecution against him. 

He could do nothing but accept his fate. If they thought him a traitor, then so be it. He was just looking out for his friend. 

The door closed behind him with a soft click and Aziraphale wrung his hands in anticipation. He hadn’t been here before. He didn’t usually have anything to say directly to the Almighty. He made his peace with the Great Plan and didn’t ever feel the need to share his thoughts on it. He was certain She already knew what he thought anyway, but this was different. He had to voice his feelings and it was clear the Metatron wouldn’t give her his messages. 

Drawing in a deeply fortifying breath, he bowed his head in respect and stood in the centre of the space. Eyes closed, he began to speak in Enochian. The language was soft and sacred on his tongue, a quiet reverence in the air. 

“Lord, I’m certain you can hear this, so I shall try to keep this brief. You—He—Kokabiel didn’t deserve to fall. He was a good angel. One of your most loyal followers. He did everything you asked of him. He created such a beautiful canvas of stars. Made Earth. He added more than they could ever see in their existence and yet…” Aziraphale trailed off and shook his head. “He only wanted to understand. He sought clarity about something he’d made. I should think that would be what every creator would be wanting if they were told what they made was going to be destroyed in six thousand years.” 

The angel paused and let out a sigh as he collected himself. “I have come to you now because I believe he deserves a second chance. Are we not taught to give second chances, Lord? Did you not instill in us the act of forgiveness? Should that forgiveness not extend to our fellow angels?” His eyes opened and he ventured to look up, searching the high ceiling longingly. “He was misguided, perhaps, but he never sought to undermine you.” 

Aziraphale fell quiet and waited. He didn’t know if she would respond, but he stood there all the same, hoping for some kind of acknowledgement. 

None came. 

“I see,” he said to himself, Enochian dropped. “Please do think about it.” 

The room became his most frequently visited spot over the coming months, each time striving for some response from Her. 

Each attempt was met with silence.

He was getting more desperate as time went on, and the whispers from the rest of Heaven only got louder and louder until they were openly talking about him. In their eyes he’d given up on everything except Kokabiel. They saw his pleading for the demon’s return to angelicness as wholly disrespectful and intolerable. The rumours began to spiral. Hearsay circulated the ranks, reaching the most holy of ears. It spread as quickly as fire, engulfing everything in its path. Aziraphale’s reputation was already cinders at his feet. 

He, however, was largely oblivious. 

Day after day, Aziraphale spent time in this small box of a room, speaking to the four walls and himself. The Enochian practice had long since been dropped. After three months of that he found it was doing nothing but serving to make him feel insane. By the five month mark he was spending every waking moment there.

He flipped between time kneeling in the middle of the room in silent prayer, and standing in various corners, hoping it would signal to Her that he wasn’t giving up any time soon. 

His body was exhausted and his mind drained. That same acrid taste returned to his tongue. But he couldn’t stop. 

His hope dwindled slowly but surely, though every so often a spark would return when he remembered why he was being this persistent in the first place. It was all for Kokabiel. 

As time ticked over into the sixth month, the door opened and there stood an angel Aziraphale didn’t know. His eyes held nothing but disgust for the angel at his feet. “Aziraphale, you are to go to the Metatron immediately. No arguments,” he said and held the door open, waiting. 

Aziraphale blinked against the light flooding in from outside, pushing himself to his feet. Perhaps the Almighty finally wanted to speak with him. Maybe she would finally listen. 

The Metatron waited with his hands clasped behind his back as Aziraphale was escorted by the stone-faced angel into the room. 

A slow, measured smile spread across the Metatron’s lips. “Ah, Aziraphale, how nice of you to join me. I trust there will be no threats this visit?” 

Aziraphale looked down at the ground, remaining quiet. 

The Metatron gestured for the other angel to leave, silence stretching between them both. 

“I hear that you’ve been trying to commune with the Almighty. Quite persistently, in fact.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes shot towards him, a hint of betrayal in them. 

“Yes, I know about it. Before you start to fret, I didn’t eavesdrop. She told me about it. She’s been listening, you know, every day.” 

“She has?” Aziraphale whispered. 

“She has, and I believe she has something she wishes to impart upon you.” 

Aziraphale stepped back when a bright beam of holy light streamed down from the ceiling. The air was stolen from his lungs for a good few seconds as he looked up, waiting to hear what she had to say to him. 

“Aziraphale…” 

He swallowed thickly. “Yes Lord, I’m here.” 

“Come into the light, my child.” 

Aziraphale nodded and took a few tentative steps forwards, the bright light shining over his features and bathing him in a comforting warmth. 

“For months now you have spoken to me. You have spent day after day praying and talking and imploring that I listen; that I take action.” The Almighty paused, humming to herself as she mulled something over. “I understand that you wish for me to reinstate the starmaker as an angel, is that correct?” 

“Y-Yes Lord, I do. Oh I do, very much.” Aziraphale’s voice was shaky, anticipation tangible. 

“Do you understand the implications of such an action?” 

“I… I suppose I can see the downsides, but Kokabiel was… he didn’t intend to undermine your authority, nor did he wish to take over the Great Plan—” 

“Aziraphale, you have shown great loyalty to him,” she said, cutting him off. “And I must admire such loyalty to a dear friend.” 

Aziraphale perked up. “Thank you.” 

“But,” she continued, “that loyalty is misplaced. Your persistence has only served to show that you care more about a traitor than you do your fellow angels—than your Lord.” 

The angel’s face fell and he shook his head vehemently. “No, no, that’s—I would never—” 

“You already have, and now I can see what sort of an angel you truly are.” She sighed heavily. “It pains me, but your peers have no trust in you. They have all but given up on you, just as you have on them.”

“I haven’t!” Aziraphale protested. 

“You. Have. Your duties remain unfinished. Your selfishness and perseverance in this foolhardy, misplaced, and wholly ludicrous deed has caused us to fall behind on the Great Plan. Now, your fellow angels have to pick up the slack. Is that not unfair, Aziraphale? Do you not feel that you have let everyone down? Or do you still, in your arrogance, think Kokabiel should be here as an angel?” 

“I… I…” Aziraphale stumbled over himself. 

“Have you no shame, Aziraphale?” The Almighty’s words were like acid, burning through him as if he were a flimsy piece of parchment. 

“I-I did what I believed was right. As I said before, forgiveness… forgiveness is instilled in us,” he said, forcing himself to remain strong.

The Almighty fell quiet and Aziraphale wondered if she might be thinking about his words more carefully. 

“You’re right, it is. However, forgiving a traitor is not. When Lucifer fell did we forgive him? No, we did not. He made his bed, just as Kokabiel has made his own. I do not change my mind when I know I am correct. Kokabiel threatened to derail the Plan. You are tiptoing the same border, Aziraphale.”

“No—” 

“Yes. Sympathising with a traitor is enough to get yourself cast out of Heaven. But I think you would enjoy joining him down in Hell, so I have a better idea. A more fitting punishment.” 

Aziraphale’s body went ice cold. “Punishment?” 

“Aziraphale, you will spend a century in solitary confinement. You will not speak to another angel throughout that time. You will remain alone with your thoughts to comprehend what you have done. You will accept that you were selfish. You will understand that you have forsaken your fellow angels. You will repent for these transgressions. Then, and only then, you will return a reformed angel, ready to devote yourself to your Lord once more.” 

“I don’t understand—” 

“You will,” the Almighty stated. 

And just like that Aziraphale was suddenly inside a plain stark white room with nothing but a bed in the corner. He frantically looked around and threw himself against the door, banging his fists on it. “No! Nonono!” he yelled. His hands scrambled around on the harsh metallic surface, trying to find purchase. But there was no handle on this side. “Let me out! Let me out! You can’t do this!” 

But she very much could. 

And she had.

A century was a long time to sit alone with one's thoughts and nothing to measure its passing. Aziraphale couldn’t say how long had gone by. He may have been here a decade, he may have been here ten minutes. It all blurred together. 

His mind swirled in a haze of flashing memories. Conversations reeled over and over while images of Kokabiel’s final moments pushed to the forefront to torment him. They reminded him of why he was here. How his naivete and blinding loyalty had forced him to do something so reckless that he was now isolated from everyone. 

Although, the Almighty had been particularly cruel in that department. She’d made sure that he could still hear the passing words of angels outside. The contempt and hatred they held for their fellow angel hung heavy in the air; storm clouds ruined every perfect moment with the threat of rain. 

Soon enough dust began to settle again. This time Aziraphale was certain it was a joke on behalf of the Almighty. In such a perfect and pristine environment as Heaven dust shouldn’t have been able to form. The very notion that something like dust could sully the sanctity of this place was laughable, yet here it was, settling on the angel who refused to move. He remained planted on the bed in the same position he had settled in after the initial panic and frenzy had calmed. His hands clasped neatly on his lap and his eyes fixed on the point where the wall and the floor met, in the small crevice that formed there. 

Every so often his eyes would sting and he had to remind himself to blink. His breaths had shallowed, taking in only a mite of oxygen when he desperately needed it. It was like his body was in powersaving mode, just barely on to function, but not enough to perform as normal. His robes weighed heavier and heavier against his skin, the dust creating a noticeable change in density. Anyone looking in on him would be forgiven for thinking he was a statue. 

At least I know I am still living, he thought when he felt the change occur. As long as I live, there is hope. 

However, hope was dwindling as the moments marched on. 

Disgusted huffs and passing conversations about him penetrated the walls, crept under the door and assaulted his ears. 

“I heard they’re talking about extending his sentence. They should let him rot for trying to save the traitor,” Jophiel spoke. 

“Even that would be too good for him,” Raziel replied. 

Jophiel giggled and hit the other angel’s shoulder. “You’re awful, you know,” she whispered.

“You love it.” 

Their voices faded as they left. 

After some time, another voice grew nearer. Chamuel.  

“... the ineffable plan was never meant to be changed for an angel. The audacity of Kokabiel to suggest it, and then he decides to try to save him. I’ve never heard something so ridiculous in all my time as an angel. Good riddance to bad rubbish.” 

Chamuel’s voice also faded away and Aziraphale sighed to himself. He thought Chamuel was his friend. He looked up to him and respected the other as much as he had Kokabiel. He remembered admiring Chamuel’s ability to instill self-love and strength in humans when they would come to exist. He had even been keen to learn of such abilities to aid with the Great Plan. Now Chamuel was one of the angels praying for his downfall. 

Things carried on like this for a while and Aziraphale felt himself slipping deeper and deeper into self-loathing and hatred. At his lowest point, when his hope couldn’t possibly dwindle further, Aziraphale finally spoke. His voice was quiet and croaky from the lack of use, but the words were still there; they were prominent enough for Her to hear if she was listening. 

“You know, despite all of this, I forgive you. I know this must be some kind of test for me. I accept that.” His eyes lifted towards the ceiling briefly. “And I forgive you.” 

The words sat then dissipated. Nothing more came of them. She remained quiet, as she had so many times before. 

But then, in a sea of accusatory tones and vilifying vocabulary, Aziraphale heard a new voice. 

This voice was soft and calm and optimistic. They held nothing but sweet words for him. They were a beacon of hope in the bleakness of this century-long punishment.

At first Aziraphale stayed where he was, staring at the same spot he’d been staring at for goodness knows how long, listening as he always did. 

“I hope you’re hanging on,” they said softly. “If you can hear me, I’m thinking about you.” The voice then went quiet and Aziraphale’s head shot towards the door. 

The dust was disturbed as he finally mustered some strength to move. “Wait!” he called out weakly, but of course, they couldn’t hear him in here. “Come back…” 

He tried to make himself stand, but his knees were far too stiff and weak to hold his weight, causing him to stumble to the ground with a hiss of pain. Despite his body screaming at him, he dragged himself over to the door and pressed his ear to it, trying to hear one more kind word. 

They were gone. 

However, the next day the voice did return. 

“Can you hear me?” they asked. 

Aziraphale perked up and desperately pressed his ear against the door again. “Yes! Yes, I can hear you,” he whispered. 

The angel sighed softly. “I can’t stay long, but just know you did what you thought was right. I… I think you were very brave.” 

His heart swelled at their words. At least someone out there thought he did the right thing. “Thank you…” he whispered, his eyes welling with emotion. 

“I must go. I have to be careful that nobody else sees me. But I will return every day if I can.” 

Once again they left and Aziraphale found himself uttering, “Please don’t leave.” 

And so this strange one-sided interaction between Aziraphale and the mysterious kind angel continued. Each day several horrible comments would penetrate the room, followed by one kind comment or hopeful word that would make Aziraphale’s day just a bit brighter. 

Over time the other angels seemed to forget about Kokabiel, his name falling from their lips less and less until only hatred for Aziraphale was what he heard. Yet the sweet angel never seemed to forget. They and Aziraphale held onto thoughts of Kokabiel for as long as they could. 

And finally it seemed as if this punishment would be bearable for Aziraphale.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale held on. He clung to those kind words like a lifeline. They were what got him through the days now. When he finally got out of here he would have to find the kind angel and thank them for their secret support throughout this whole ordeal. 

He hadn’t been expecting the door to open on this day. Time was an illusion to him once more, and the very thought that this might be over was absolutely absurd. Half believing the Almighty had forgotten about him, he’d given up on getting out a long time ago. 

So when the door did open and Aziraphale was practically thrown to the ground in a heap, he didn’t believe it was actually happening. He thought he was in some kind of fever dream and his sanity had finally slipped away from him. 

Arms hooked under his own, he was dragged up and carried away from confinement. His legs didn’t want to cooperate so his feet were pulled along behind him. He felt the pins and needles creeping up his legs. He squeezed his eyes closed in discomfort, but he was almost glad of the feeling; it meant he was still present. 

He watched the strips of grout between the tiles pass underfoot as he was hauled along until they stopped and he was dropped to the ground. He groaned as his bones protested the movement, barely lifting his head to see where he was. 

His heart sank. 

The Metatron’s office. 

What horror would he be subjected to now? 

“Aziraphale… you’re looking well,” the Metatron said slowly, tilting his head at the angel. “It seems solitary confinement did you some good after all.” He strolled over to Aziraphale and crouched down, lifting the angel’s chin with his index finger. “A century has passed, you know. Much has changed. The Great Plan is finally about to be set in motion. Isn’t that exciting?” 

Aziraphale looked at him, though he said nothing. His eyes were still filled with the betrayal of a century-long punishment brought about by the scribe’s lies. 

“I thought you would have been overjoyed to learn of that,” he continued. “No? Ah, well, no matter.” The Metatron was playing with his food. “I’m sure you’ll be eager to learn of your role in all of this…” He stood back up straight and his eyes lingered on Aziraphale, a smirk on his lips before he turned and went over to the table filled with scrolls. 

Aziraphale pushed himself up further, his breaths shaky and ragged as his body refused to play ball. “What do you mean ‘my role’?” he asked finally. 

“Exactly what I say.” The Metatron picked up a scroll and turned towards Aziraphale. “You will have a role in the Great Plan.” He unrolled the scroll carefully and hummed to himself. “Now, where was it?” He scanned down what must have been a list and allowed the tension to sit heavily between them. 

The Metatron caught the confusion on Aziraphale’s face and chuckled. “What? Did you really believe the Almighty wouldn’t give a role to her most loyal follower?” 

Those words stung. 

“Ah, here we are. Aziraphale: Principality and Guardian of Eden’s Eastern Gate. You are to watch over the Garden of Eden and ensure that the humans, Adam and Eve, begin life the way they should. You will be their guide.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “I don’t quite understand…” 

“You have been assigned a flaming sword to help you. Only use it to defend the garden, and whatever you do, do not allow either of them to eat from the apple tree.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it will be disastrous. That’s all you need to know,” the Metatron said sharply. 

Everything was a blur from that point on. Aziraphale was briefed on his duties in Eden: tasks, commands, and what he should and shouldn’t do. Everything was forced on him, the flaming sword thrust into his hands and then he was dropped in a random part of the garden alone. 

He spent the first day assessing and surveying the garden, learning the layout and finding his post at the Eastern Gate. Eden was a tranquil place and Aziraphale was glad to feel the warmth of the sunlight on his face and softness of grass and soil beneath his feet—it was a welcome change from the harsh interior of Heaven’s bureaucratic world. The sensation of a gentle breeze tousling his hair made his body shudder in a pleasant way. He enjoyed it and couldn’t help but wonder what other new sensations might crop up as he explored. 

The garden itself was vast, spanning miles across. Verdant greenery as far as the eye could see and off in the distance a waterfall. Looking down from the top of the wall above the Eastern Gate, Aziraphale could see the tree of knowledge which he was meant to prevent the two new humans from eating from. He still didn’t understand the full implications behind them taking from it, but he guessed that giving them too much knowledge was a bad thing—the fall of humanity. 

The further Aziraphale ventured, the more he found to enjoy. The many varieties of plants intrigued him, the blossoms a cornucopia of rich colours and beautiful scents. He ran his fingers over the petals of one particularly pretty blue bloom, feeling just how delicate it was. His eyes lit up when a honey-like scent was released into the air. He breathed deeply and wished to experience more like this. 

And so he carried on in this fashion, making his way around each new flower he saw, taking in the smells and colours. He would never have experienced this up in Heaven. In fact, he believed this assignment to be a blessing, for what other angel could say they’d had the chance to see so much in such a short space of time?

The light began to fade once he reached the tree at the heart of the garden. The sounds of flowing water nearby brought a sense of calm and Aziraphale wondered what the coming days would bring. If they were like this day then his time here would be pleasant and simple. 

Adam’s arrival in the garden was pretty dull considering the huge fuss they made about it Upstairs. 

Aziraphale was sat up on the wall above the Eastern Gate looking out for anything interesting that might happen when he noticed a small flash of bright light nearby. The angel got to his feet and spread his wings, gliding down to the spot where he found the human looking bewildered, yet unharmed. He folded his wings away before the human could see them, his sword lowered to show he was no threat. 

He stared at the human for a few moments before he ventured to speak, keeping his voice quiet so as not to startle him. 

“Hello, I’m Aziraphale.” He offered the man a smile. “I uh… I think you’re Adam, correct?”

Adam gave Aziraphale a wide eyed look and then nodded slowly. His eyes flicked momentarily towards the flaming sword in Aziraphale’s hand. 

“It’s alright…” Aziraphale held his hand up placatingly, further showing he meant no harm with the weapon. “Well, I believe we’ve a lot to be getting on with if you’re going to start life on Earth.” Holding his other hand out, he helped Adam to his feet. “I’m going to be your guide and guardian. Now, first thing’s first, you were sent here alone, weren’t you?” 

Again Adam nodded, but said nothing. 

“Right. I… I’ve been instructed to show you around. The Almighty—that is, God—has said that you are allowed to eat from any tree within the garden apart from the one at the heart. That tree is forbidden,” Aziraphale explained. “Please, stay away from it.” 

This time Adam frowned and tilted his head quizzically. 

“She didn’t tell me why, but you’re best to obey her. Going against her will is… not advised.” Aziraphale swallowed thickly, his eyes growing distant for but a moment before he schooled his expression back into a pleasant smile. “Right this way, Adam.” He gestured for Adam to follow. 

Adam looked around curiously and followed Aziraphale who led him to an open part of the garden near a large pool of the clearest, purest water imaginable. Aziraphale knelt by the pool and Adam followed suit. “This is water. It will help you stay hydrated and cool in this heat.” He then proceeded to show Adam that the liquid was safe to touch, cupping his hands in it and bringing it to his mouth. Though he himself didn’t drink from it, he assumed Adam would understand, looking at him expectantly. 

Adam watched curiously once more and copied the angel, cupping the water and sipping on it eagerly. 

“Good. Food is much the same. Take when you feel the need,” Aziraphale said and then looked up at the sky. He saw the sun already beginning to move westwards, giving way to dusk. “It’s getting dark. We should find shelter. It goes quite chilly at night and I shouldn’t think you’ll enjoy it out here in the cold.” 

Aziraphale stood to his feet and held his sword tightly, poised to protect Adam at a moment’s notice. He once again gestured for Adam to follow him, leading the other towards a small cave on the outskirts of the large garden. The angel had already set up a place for the human to rest. “You can sleep here. I shall keep watch. If my calculations are correct, you are to name the animals tomorrow. A big job, you know.” 

Adam sat down. “Animals?” 

Aziraphale paused and looked over his shoulder at Adam, a small smile playing on his lips. “That’s right. Animals. All creatures of the Earth, great and small. You shall have the honour of giving them their names, Adam. It’s rather important, so you’re going to need your rest.” He nodded towards the makeshift bed. “We can talk about it properly tomorrow. For now, sleep.” 

Adam hesitated before he lay down and closed his eyes. Much of this felt instinctive to him, and Aziraphale was glad that it seemed to be going well. 

The true test would be whether Adam would heed the Lord’s words and show restraint towards the forbidden tree. 

Naming the animals went just as it should. Aziraphale played a gentle advisor to Adam, helping to steer him in the right direction (more like he gave Adam a very good shove in the right direction). 

As the pair went around to each of the animals, Aziraphale would give his thoughts and soon enough Adam was looking towards him for help. 

Starting off small, Adam named the insects. 

“Ah, this one is rather beautiful. When we were in the planning phases we would refer to this as a butterfly,” Azriaphale said, glancing at Adam. “It might be awfully confusing for the poor dears if they were called something new, don’t you think? I’m sure I wouldn’t like it.” 

It took some time, but soon enough each and every animal was given its name—with Aziraphale’s help, of course. 

And then Eve was created from Adam’s rib. 

Aziraphale didn’t quite understand why she was made that way, but he welcomed her all the same. 

He found that the two of them were inseparable, and since he saw very little danger of them being together alone, Aziraphale allowed them to go about their business. He was advised before he was placed here that the humans would need time together to procreate, which he shouldn’t be witness to. 

So Aziraphale returned to his post, guarding the gate. 

All was well. The days were nice. He felt accomplished in his work and thought that perhaps he was pleasing God by doing this. 

However, everything was about to change. 

A new presence had snaked its way into the garden and was whispering sweet temptations into Eve’s ear. 

And worse still, she was listening. 

All of Aziraphale’s hard work was undone with one simple action. 

Storm clouds had begun to gather in the sky and signaled the first true change in weather since Eden had been made. That was ominous in and of itself. But then Aziraphale became aware of some chaos happening down at the forbidden tree. He frowned to himself, heading down there immediately. 

When he got there he was met with the Almighty telling Adam and Eve they were to leave the garden immediately, having gone against her wishes by eating from the tree. He looked around briefly, scanning the area for anything that would help him understand what had caused this. 

There, hanging from the branches of the tree’s thick bough was a large black and red serpent. Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed on it. He didn’t remember seeing that particular species of snake when Adam had been naming the animals.  

The Principality’s heart dropped and he escorted the couple to the edge of the garden to head out into the world. Just before they went, Aziraphale held up his hand to Adam. “Here you go. Flaming sword. Don’t thank me. And don’t let the sun go down on you here, hm?” he said, looking between them both, eyes lingering on Eve—she was expecting. She needed protection if humanity was going to get off to the start it needed. 

Aziraphale watched them go and returned to his post atop the wall. But what was he guarding now? He had nothing to protect except the garden itself. He wondered how much of this would come back to bite him in the backside later on. Perhaps the Almighty would be cross enough to throw him down to Hell. Maybe she would erase him completely for messing up the Great Plan. 

As he rested there on the wall, watching Adam and Eve heading towards a large lion, he became aware of a presence next to him. It was an unpleasant presence which brought with it the scent of sulphur and cherries. 

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked to the side and caught a glimpse of that same serpent form before morphing into a redheaded demon dressed in black robes. His dark wings unfurled behind him and the angel caught sight of his eyes which were yellow and serpentine. 

But the face was familiar. He was certain he knew this demon—Kokabiel? 

Surely not. That would be cruel, wouldn’t it? Heaven had placed the very thing in front of him that had gotten him punished for a century. The very thing that had made him hear so many horrible comments and see countless disgusted glares. The very thing that had made him suffer. 

The forbidden fruit, tempting him to take a bite. 

It must be a test of loyalty. A test to see if I’ve truly repented; if I’ve changed, he thought to himself as the demon smirked. 

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon.” 

“Sorry, what was that?” 

“I said, ‘well, that went down like a lead balloon’.”

“Yes. Yes it did, rather,” Aziraphale responded, eyes flicking back out across the sands. 

“Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me. First offence and everything. I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.”

“Well, it must be bad…” Aziraphale frowned, unsure what to call the demon. He couldn’t use Kokabiel anymore. 

“Crawly,” the other offered with a gracious smile and faint bow of his head. 

“... Crawly. Otherwise you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.” Aziraphale gave Crawly a look that said ‘yes, I know it was you.’

The pair continued their back and forth for a time, contemplating the ineffability of the Great Plan, and how speculation wasn’t advised. Aziraphale felt a sense of déjà vu about this whole thing. He and Kokab—Crawly (it would take some time to get used to that) had had this conversation many moons ago; the sentiment was largely unchanged. 

Only now it seemed more prominent, more relevant than ever, as the first raindrops fell. The storm was here, and Aziraphale gently shielded Crawly from the spots, letting him huddle close. 

Maybe this would be the start of something wonderful. Something beautiful. 

Something truly ineffable. 

Dusk settled over South Downs as the sounds of rustling paper emanated from Aziraphale’s study. The angel was working on repairing a first edition of Through the Looking Glass which he’d managed to nab at his most recent trip to Sotheby’s. The book was mostly in good condition, but the spine had certainly seen better days (he knew the feeling).

Gently and reverently, Aziraphale worked to stitch the pages into place, passing the needle back and forth between hands. He brightened the light next to him slightly with a subtle miracle, giving himself more visibility as the sun sank lower beyond the horizon. 

A quiet creak and shuffle of feet made Aziraphale turn his head marginally towards the door. “Dear, do pick up your feet when you walk,” he chided.  

Crowley rolled his eyes, not even acknowledging the comment as he sauntered over. “How’s the surgery coming along?” 

“Surgery?” Aziraphale tutted. “I wish you wouldn’t be so—“ 

“Direct?” 

“Tasteless. This is very delicate work, you know,” the angel said and nudged Crowley back with his elbow. “You’re in my light; casting a shadow…” 

Crowley held his hands up in surrender, stepping back. “Better?” 

Aziraphale gave him a mild, pernickety once over and narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I’ll allow it. Now do let me concentrate, won’t you.” 

Crowley stayed back, observing the angel as he worked on the book with a precise elegance, fingers nimble and movements measured. He was clearly at home when he preserved and restored his books, and the demon was glad they brought them with them when they moved here. The angel wasn’t himself without them. 

Carefully placing down a glass of heavy red wine, Crowley looked out of the window over the garden, pleased with the way it was turning out. “Blooming well, angel.” 

“Hm?” Aziraphale raised a brow and glanced up at the demon. “Oh, yes, I suppose they are. The sunflowers were certainly the right choice, dear,” he said. He secured the thread and snipped the ends before he finished binding the cover and pages back together. 

He set the book aside to rest, taking his spectacles off and placing them on the desk. He then stood from his seat and straightened out his waistcoat, smoothing his fingers down the aged velvet. He ambled over to Crowley and rested his head against the demon’s shoulder. 

Crowley felt it, yellow eyes flicking down towards him. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of Aziraphale’s head. 

Aziraphale looked over at the apple tree in their garden, and hummed quietly to himself. He seemed to be deep in thought. 

The demon sensed it and followed his gaze over. “S’on your mind, angel?” he asked softly. 

“I’m just thinking.” 

“When aren’t you thinking?” Crowley jabbed.

Aziraphale tutted. “Alright… do you ever think about when we met—in Eden?” he asked. 

Crowley’s brows furrowed. It was an odd question and felt a bit out of the blue. “Not really, why?” 

“Something’s been bothering me, more and more lately as it happens,” Aziraphale clasped his hands together. 

“Wot?” 

A deep sigh. “I’ve never told you this, but before I was assigned to Eden, I was… I was punished for being sympathetic towards—” he cut himself off and cleared his throat. He knew Crowley didn’t like to think of those times before the Beginning. “Anyway, I wonder if you were put there as a test for me.” 

“A test?” 

“Mm,” the angel confirmed. “I was always sceptical of the Metatron’s motives. It felt rather sudden that they would choose me, someone actively in trouble for being disloyal, to guard the Eastern Gate. There were plenty of other angels who could have done the job. So why me? It always felt orchestrated. Don’t you feel the same?” 

“I’ll admit when I saw you I was shocked. I didn’t think they’d send you, of all angels, down. But I don’t know. I felt like it was meant to happen.” Crowley shrugged. 

“Perhaps it was, but not for the well-intentioned reason we first believed.” 

Crowley pulled away and placed his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders, making him face him now. “Angel, where’s this coming from?” 

“Crowley, I think you were… you were my forbidden apple. The fruit I wasn’t supposed to eat and yet… I did it anyway. I was tempted, and I gave in.” 

The demon frowned. “You think I was your forbidden fruit?” 

“Yes! Think about it… we know your lot was communicating with my lot, and that was likely long before Armageddon was even a whisper of a thought. What if… well, what if they both knew who was sent respectively? What if it was a cruel joke?” 

“But why would they do that? Seems like a lot of trouble to go to.”

“To see how I would react to you. Would I remain disloyal and sympathetic to a traitor? Would I betray Heaven and God, and end up fallen too?” Aziraphale shook his head. “I never was able to fit the pieces together before, but now, after everything, well… it seems like the only plausible option.” 

“Aziraphale, even if that were true, why are you worrying about it now? We… we’re free of them. You left Heaven—resigned. I resigned. We have each other now,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale remained quiet for a few moments before he nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right. I just… it doesn’t feel real sometimes, you know? We fought for such a long time for this life. We were hereditary enemies… and now we’re…” 

“Us?” Crowley supplied. 

A wide smile spread across Aziraphale’s lips and his eyes sparkled with tears. He leaned in and pressed a chaste, yet sweet kiss to the demon’s lips, whispering, “Us.” 

And they were. Indescribably, utterly, and ineffably an ‘us’, just as they should be.