Chapter Text
Do you think I’d give up?
That this might’ve shook the love from me
Or that I was on the brink?
How could you think, darlin’, I’d scare so easily?
It started with a dream, a nightmare really, one of those weird ones where your significant other is saying or doing something hurtful that they would never do.
Anthony found himself in a bookshop, not unlike the one he met Asa at, albeit a bit larger. Warm sunlight illuminated Asa's pained face as he turned away, refusing to make eye contact with Anthony.
Anthony briefly noted Asa's white, spiky hair and tan suit, a look we had never seen on him. Then, he watched, powerless, as he surged forward, grabbing Asa by the lapels of his strange tan suit jacket and kissing him forcefully.
While Asa and Anthony had kissed many times, there was something profoundly wrong with this kiss— a desperation from Anthony and reluctance from Asa that Anthony had never felt in the waking world.
After a few moments, Anthony watched himself let go, Asa stumbling back, a pained look on his face. Asa seemed to collect himself, expression steeling into a bitter coldness that was completely foreign to Anthony.
“I forgive you.” Asa said, expression a mix of hidden pain and determined nonchalance.
Anthony watched himself turn away, walking out.
"Don’t bother."
Anthony woke with a start, sitting bolt upright. What in the world was that? Why was Asa upset that Anthony kissed him? Why was Anthony missing him so desperately in the first place? And what was "I forgive you" supposed to mean?
Anthony started when he felt a soft hand touch his arm gently. He turned to see the real Asa, with his smooth blonde hair and flannel pajamas, blinking up at him sleepily.
"Anthony?" he croaked, voice rough with sleep. "What's wrong?"
Anthony smiled at his lover, bringing himself back to reality. Asa was here, not mad at him. They were fine.
"It's nothing," Anthony murmured. "Just a bad dream."
Asa's hand on Anthony's arm pulled a bit more incessantly. “Then come back to sleep, I'm cold."
Anthony gladly obliged, folding into Asa's waiting arms and letting himself drift back to sleep. Everything was fine.
Anthony didn't usually dream, but the past few weeks had changed that. For some reason, his subconscious had decided that heneeded to be graced with various scenes of Asa rejecting him, usually in the strangest of outfits and always with that weird spiky hair. Some of the dreams were less angsty, but they still featured strange outfits and a weirdly uptight version of Asa that Anthony didn’t recognize.
It was after one of these dreams (where Anthony had discreetly handed a Regency Era themed Asa a piece of paper that had angered Asa and led to him making comments about "fraternizing") that Anthony was sleepily attempting to assist Asa with some wedding planning. Anthony had proposed a few weeks earlier (which Asa had responded to with a proposal of his own), and the pair were just getting started looking at venues and deciding their guest list and whatnot.
"What about this one? It's an old bandstand in Battersea park. Very romantic." Asa said.
Anthony started at the word "bandstand," something tugging at his subconscious incessantly. He turned more fully towards the laptop screen, which Asa turned towards Anthony.
As soon as he caught a glimpse of the black wrought iron structure, Anthony was overwhelmed with a memory that he didn't know he had.
"Friends? We're not friends. We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don't even like you!"
There they were, facing each other under the dark shade of the bandstand Anthony recognized from the picture. Not that they needed the shade—it was a rather gloomy day, soft light filtering through clouds to illuminate the park around them.
And gloomy matched the dread Anthony felt as he realized he was being subjected to yet another vision of Asa heartlessly rejecting him.
"You do!" He heard himself growl in response to fluffy-white-haired Asa's assertion that he didn't like him.
It didn't make a difference, wrong Asa continuing, "Even if I did know where the Antichrist was, I wouldn't tell you, we're on opposite sides!"
Anthony barely had time to think "what does the Antichrist have to do with anything" before he heard himself replying, voice low and gruff, "we're on our side," stalking forward to lean in closer to Wrong Asa.
"There is no ‘our side,’ Crowley. Not anymore. It's over."
So they were calling each other their last names? That was strange.
Anthony felt himself pause for a moment before stepping back. “Right. Well then.” He grunted and started walking away. After a few steps, he turned back, saying “have a nice doomsday,” to which Wrong Asa didn’t respond.
"Anthony!" Anthony startled, realizing Asa had called his name a few times now. His hand was heavy on Anthony's shoulder, warm and comforting and familiar. "Anthony? Are you alright?"
Anthony blinked, shaking his head to try to dislodge the strange memory. "Yeah, I'm fine," he lied. What else could he say? “I've been having weird dreams about a weird mean version of you and I just had one when I was awake”?
"I'm just tired,” he reassured, placing a hand over Asa's on his shoulder and rubbing it comfortingly.
He turned back to the computer and flinched at the image of the bandstand that had triggered this whole fiasco. "I— err— I don't think this is the one. I— well— I just get a bad vibe about the place."
Asa still looked mildly concerned but he removed his hand and turned back to the computer as well. "Yeah, I think I agree with you on that actually, dear boy," he grimaced. "Something feels off about it."
Anthony watched Asa's face carefully, searching for any sign of the same recognition Anthony felt for the place. But hecouldn't tell if Asa's grimace was also due to some dream self's bad encounter there, or if he was just sympathizing with Anthony after his outburst. And Anthony wasn't about to ask.
Asa moved on to other venue options, and Anthony went through the motions of humming approvingly or grimacing and shaking his head, but his heart wasn't in it. He just couldn't stop thinking about the strange memory.
For some reason after that, Anthony's dreams seemed to calm down, maybe because a new school year was starting and his days were consumed with preparations (and nights consumed with worries). This was far from Anthony's first year teaching, but the usual chaos of writing lesson plans and training TAs and editing syllabi were
supplemented with the whole new craziness of wedding planning. By the time the first day of classes rolled around, Anthony was running on not enough sleep and possibly too many shots of espresso.
He miraculously made it through his first class, at least partially invigorated by the sea of fresh faces ready to explore the cosmos with him. After shutting off and disconnecting his laptop, he turned to greet the first in a line of students who had queued up after Anthony assigned the first readings and dismissed the class.
As soon as Anthony saw the first student waiting to speak to him, he froze, laptop forgotten halfway into his bag.
“Hey Professor Crowley, I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm Adam, and I'm super excited—"
Anthony didn't hear the rest of what Adam had to say because he was swept up in another flashback from another life.
"We are fucked!" Anthony heard himself growl, the world shaking around him. He briefly noted that there were more people than usual in this memory—an older man and woman, a younger man and woman, a gaggle of children—and of course the weird white-haired Asa.
Wrong Asa picked up a—was that a sword? Yes, it was—and approached Anthony, a determined expression on his face. Was he going to strike him down? This was a whole other level of animosity, but it wouldn’t be out of character for Wrong Asa.
But, no, Asa didn't strike Anthony down, he just waved the sword a bit frantically and said, "come up with something! Or—" he looked to the sword, and then at Anthony, seemingly deliberating, "—or I'll never talk to you again!" Anthony thought that was a strange threat, especially considering that the "something" he assumed his dream self needed to do was "stop an earthquake," but supposedly it worked as he felt himself straining to do— something. He rose from his crouch, letting out a strained sound as he gestured to the sky.
And to his surprise, it worked. He found himself in a completely different setting, a big, empty dessert. Well, empty save for himself, Asa, sporting some new giant, white wings and still holding the sword which was inexplicably on fine, and one of the children. Wait— not just any child, that was a younger version of the student who had come to speak to Anthony after class. Adam, was it?
Anthony registered black in the corner of his vision and realized that, like Asa, he also inexplicably had a pair of wings, but his were black. He watched as his dream self pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and put them on.
Then he spoke. "Adam, listen." Ah yes, so it was Adam! "Your father is coming to destroy you. Probably to destroy all of us." Oh wow, quite the dad.
Adam responded, voice higher than the student Anthony met but with a similar lilt "My dad? He wouldn't hurt anybody."
"Not your Earthly father. Satan. Your father who is no longer in Heaven." Anthony wasn't quite sure what any of that meant but it sounded bad. "He is coming and he is angry."
The younger Adam shook his head disbelievingly. "So what do you want me to do about it? Fight him?"
That would be a lot to expect from a child, thought Anthony. Dream Anthony seemed to agree.
"I don't think fighting him would do any good. You're going to have to come up with something else." He sounded resigned, like he knew it was too much to ask but didn't know what else to do.
Adam looked incredulous. "But I'm just a kid."
Wrong Asa finally stepped into the conversation. "But that's not a bad thing to be, Adam." He sounded placating, hopeful. "You know, I was scared that you'd be hell incarnate. I hoped you'd be Heaven incarnate. But you're not either of those things. You're much better. You're human incarnate."
Anthony wasn't sure what exactly most of that meant— but the expression Asa flashed at him at the end of his little speech, the way his eyes flicked up to meet Anthony's, was so much more tender than the way Asa had treated him in most of the memory dreams. Maybe there was more to this relationship than it seems...
"Professor Crowley! Are you okay?" Anthony started at the sound of older Adam's voice. He blinked a few times and rubbed his forehead, taking in the lecture hall and concerned students starting to crowd around him.
"I— I'm fine. Sorry about that, I'm just— err— tired I guess. What were you saying Adam?"
Adam furrowed his brow with concern but didn't push the matter. "I was just saying..."
Anthony tried to pay attention but his mind kept going back to the strange dream memories. What was going on? Did we need to talk to a doctor? Why did he have these scattered memories from a strange, fantastical life he never lived?
“—and that's what originally got me into astronomy, so when I saw your class I knew I had to take it!" Adam was saying excitedly.
Anthony pushed the worried thoughts aside. This was his life: engaging with students, asking questions about the universe, and building a relationship with his sweet Asa. The dream memories were probably just his overactive imagination getting the better of him. They weren't real.
Later that day, Anthony came home to the flat he shared with Asa. He was greeted with the delectable smell of breakfast for dinner and the sound of his boyfriend— no, fiancé, he was still getting used to that— clattering about in the kitchen. He set his bag down and removed his shoes, following the heavenly smells and sounds to greet Asa in the kitchen. Anthony watched for a moment in the doorway, taking in Asa humming at the stove, flipping a crepe over in the pan. After a few moments of Asa not noticing him, Anthony moved in quietly, wrapping his fiance in a warm embrace from behind and placing a gentle kiss on his temple.
"Oh!" Asa exclaimed, turning with a smile to place a kiss on Anthony's cheek. "I didn't hear you come in, my dear. How was your day?"
Anthony hummed and gave Asa a squeeze, nuzzling his neck with his head. "Long. M’tired. Thanks for making dinner, angel."
Asa stiffened momentarily and Anthony looked over to see an unreadable expression on his fiance's face. After a moment, Asa seemed to remember himself and relaxed into a contented smile.
"Angel?" he asked. "That's a new one."
Anthony shrugged. "Well, it's true. You're an angel. My angel."
Asa laughed musically, and Anthony felt himself falling in love even more, if that was possible. "If you say so, my dear. Now, will you let me go so I can finish up these crepes for us?"
Anthony grumbled but he loosened his grip and let go, stepping back to let Asa move about the kitchen. "Is there anything I can help you with, angel?"
Asa hummed, rinsing off some berries in the sink. "No, I think we're all good here, almost done. Actually, could you go start the record player? There was a new record I got today that I think you'll like."
Anthony was intrigued. “Of course, angel." Why did he keep saying angel? He wasn't sure, it just felt right.
Anthony stepped over to their small dining room to find the record player already set up with the new vinyl. It was always fun to see what Asa could find at the cute little record store around the corner from the bookshop he worked at. Anthony lowered the needle, smiling to himself as a gentle piano started playing. Ah, so Asa had really picked up a record for himself—this was definitely more up his alley.
Anthony's smile froze as the soft, melodious voice started singing. He knew this! He was sure he'd never heard this before but he knew this somehow.
“That certain night, the night we met, there was magic abroad in the air...”
All of the sudden, he remembered. Not just a flash, not just a memory, not even just a lifetime. He remembered everything; the beginning, and before the beginning, and the stars, and the questions, and the war, and the Fall, and "go up there and make some trouble" and 6000 years, and Aziraphale.
Oh, Aziraphale. He was everywhere, from the beginning to the end to everywhere between and before and after. He was always, always there, at least for the important bits. Always there, but— but—
Oh, the heartache hit Anthony—Crowley—then. The almost there but not quite, the rejections, the invitations, the dalliances, the fraternizing, the years in between. 6000 years, he remembered. Over 6000 years of memories washed over him and through him and he couldn't stop it.
He remembered falling in love but not wanting to admit it to himself. He remembered the years and years of not being able to say it, for fear of what would happen. He remembered the few years with less fear, the way they had danced around each other (figuratively and literally) and inched closer to the truth. He remembered the confession, the brief reconciliation, the barely there apology and the forced forgiveness. He remembered the end, the choice they had had, and— and—
He had thrown it all away? Why? Why would he do that after so long?
He only wondered a moment before the other part of it hit him, his other great love, his other great loss...
Humanity. He remembered the Flood and Job and Jesus on the cross and he remembered the good and the bad and the best of the best and the worst of the worst. He remembered how despite the ultimate Good and ultimate Bad trying their damnedest, it was always humans—humanity—that outshone them
both. He remembered Adam and his friends staving off the apocalypse and he remembered Nina and Maggie telling him not to meddle in their lives and he remembered Elspeth and Wee Morag and the Resurrectionist and all the other countless humans he had met and he remembered why.
He connected the dots. Their request to God, at the end of the world. The lifetime he had lived as Anthony, the distinct lack of God and angels and demons and miracles and divine intervention. It had worked; She had kept her promise!
But... had she? He shuddered as more came to him, even more memories he hadn’t even considered he could have. The 6000 years had been so much, too much, and he had thought it was over, but it wasn't, somehow. How? He thought incredulously as the 13 billion years crashed down on him too. Sure, they weren't as eventful, especially at first when there weren't any humans to observe or be a part of, but they were there.
There were other lifetimes, before Professor Anthony J. Crowley. He had lived in the beginning, in early societies and in pre-historic tribes and later in sprawling kingdoms and wider empires. He had lived short lives and long ones, witnessed all kinds of events Anthony only knew through history books. And— and—
And Aziraphale— Aziraphale—
Aziraphale was still there. Somehow, always there.
Usually not within reach. Usually just for a moment, usually just passing through, somebody he would meet and connect with and know without knowing why, but they had never been able to stay long.
Except— Except—
Crowley finally returned to now, to Anthony and remembered who it was who was remembering...
...and remembered who it was who had set it off.
The meet cute. The knowing, the pub, the other dates, the engagement. Asa Fell— but, really, no, it was, it was—
Aziraphale.
He— Anthony— Crowley had Aziraphale.
And finally, finally he broke.
"Darling? Anthony? Are you okay? Are you with me?" He barely registered the voice, barely registered the sobs rolling through him and the weight of it all crashing down on him. It was just so, so overwhelming, and his body—his human body, he realized, wasn't equipped to handle all of it. He could feel himself shifting, writhing, trying to fit into a box too small and wanting to combust instead.
"Anthony," the voice was more urgent. This voice, Crowley-Anthony realized, the power of it almost registering through the haze.
Hands grasped his and that stopped everything. Crowley's focus narrowed in on that one point of contact, not understanding, not being able to put together the pieces between one short year and one short lifetime where that kind of contact could happen...
And the thousands of years when it couldn't.
Sure, it was different then. They weren't human and thus didn't do all of that humany stuff. But in some essential ways, they were and they did. Aziraphale and Crowley had spent 6000 years doing human things and living human adjacent lines and they had done all sorts of things—eating, drinking, sinning, doing good—and everything in between.
But this?
Not this. Never in 6000 years did Crowley and Azraphate touch like this, engage in that kind of intimacy. Never did they kiss, or hug, or—Crowley blushed as he sifted through Anthony's memories—do some of the other things Anthony and Asa had done.
And in some ways, Crowley had been fine with that.
But now? Being here, seeing Anthony's memories and seeing what they could have had?
Crowley's heart broke all over again.
“Anthony J. Crowley! Would you look at me!" Asa's voice sounded urgent, and Crowley-Anthony abruptly snapped out of it. He shook his head and looked up, meeting a beautiful blue gaze he had known for simultaneously one year and 6000 and 13 billion.
"Oh, Anthony, you scared me—" Aziraphale-Asa broke off suddenly, looking into Crowley-Anthony’s eyes, his face suddenly going white. He let go of Crowley-Anthony's hands to raise a hand to his lips.
"Crowley? Is that you?"