Angel Of Death - Crowley X Aziraphale (Finished)

8 - Don't Forget

How long had it been? The demon wondered. It hadn't been a year yet, but it must be getting close. Every day the demon regret more telling his angel to stay away. There had been no word from him, or any of the horsemen for that matter.

The essence he'd used to track Aziraphale that night had long since disappeared. Crowley found himself at least glad that he knew Aziraphale was okay, but he was lonely. He missed all those days wandering through the park and those dinners at fancy restaurants. He missed the homey feel to the bookshop which for the past twenty years had been the Demon's home.

But the Demon knew well and truly that after what went down that day, Aziraphale wouldn't come back. He lay on his bed which had long since been moved into the bookshop's back room, thinking once again about the Angel. He had totally intended on drinking himself into oblivion again, but that didn't exactly go to plan.

The demon immediately shot up, not believing what he was seeing. The cufflinks, which even after all this time he refused to remove, began to pulsate. A small vibration shivering his arm.

Aziraphale was in trouble. Crowley wasn't sure what to do. No. He knew what to do. What he didn't know was if he'd be okay with that. But Crowley was Crowley. It didn't matter how he felt, there was nothing in all of God's universe that was more important than Aziraphale's safety.

Touching the little pin with his fingers, his body was transported to a dark room. A nauseous feeling swept through the demon. A putrid chemical smell filled the air and the cold send his skin on edge. Still, his determination led him to his Angel, who stood, clod in black, leaning heavily against a wall, panting harshly.

"Aziraphale?" The Angel rapidly spun to look at the demon, sending himself dizzy. Crowley reached out to help him, only to be stopped by Aziraphale stepping back and warning with his hand for the demon to stay away. A look of hurt flashed over the Demon's face before he spoke.

"Where are we?" The angel's hand covered his pained stomach before replying.

"1975 I believe." Crowley's eyes widened.

"What!?"

"Why are you here?" Aziraphale spoke weakly. Crowley lifted up his pulsing wrist. The angel's eyes seemed to be struggling to focus on it, but he seemed to get the idea.

"What's wrong Aziraphale?" The angel shook his head, leaning against the brick wall once more. Crowley hated seeing his angel this way. Weak. Tired. Pained.
"A.. Angel... Please." The demon struggled to speak the nickname that was once so familiar to him. And the words caused the angel to look up in longing. The Angel fought every urge, exerting all his strength to maintain the distance between him and the demon.

"Travel through time is deadly for an angel... Or demon. Our wings create our connection between the physical world and the ethereal. But the gap between time exists only within the ethereal. Everytime I go to another time, my physical existence gets closer to death."

"So stop."

"I can't. I get pulled into different times, I don't choose it. Death has to visit everyone. So time travel is the only way to ensure it can."

"That's why you wouldn't let me touch you. You didn't want me to get pulled through." Ever so slowly, the angel's eyes met the Demon's.
"You could've just told me."

"Would you have listened?" Before the demon could respond, the Angel lurched over in pain.
"Cut them off, please just cut them off!" Aziraphale begged.

"Cut wha..." The angel's glowing white wings shimmered into the physical realm.
"Angel... No..."

"Please!" Aziraphale sobbed, falling to his hands and knees. Crowley rushed to his side, no longer facing the Angel pushing him away. The angel braced himself for his wings to disappear for good, only to be instead filled with an overwhelming relief when Crowley softly petted a hand across the shiny feathers. Aziraphale whined as he keeled out of consciousness.

Almost immediately, the pair were pulled from the darkness into a room that Crowley found so familiar. They were back in Mayfair. In a flat Crowley hadn't seen in years. His own. It only took a glance out of the window for the demon to know they were back in their own time.

Before he had even thought about it, Crowley had picked up his Angel and placed him on the bed he was surprised to see there. It wasn't hard for the demon to work out that Aziraphale had been staying here. A miracled chair later, the demon was holding tightly onto Aziraphale's hand.

For several minutes the Angel seemed calm, then the pained look reappeared on the blond's unconscious features. Crowley could feel the gold around the fabric of his jacket begin to hum again. That's when Crowley understood.

"Angel, just stay here. Let me go in your stead. Just stay here and survive." He wasn't sure if the Angel had heard him, but someone must've, because the demon found a sensation of his wings being yanked away and gripping onto his insides for support. Crowley grunted in pain as he found himself no longer in his old flat and instead in a room he had all but forgotten.