Happiest of Holidays, villainny!

[waxbean.livejournal.com]

Title: Revelations

Author: Snakelady88

Recipient: Villainny

Rating: PG

Characters/Pairings: Crowley/Aziraphale, Very discreet Adam/Pepper, Referenced Brian/Wensleydale

Summary: Adam asks Aziraphale a very interesting question, and then helps him come to a very surprising realization. At least, for him.

 

 

 

Revelations

 

 

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale blinked several times, unable to believe what had just been asked of him.

 

“I said, ‘When did you realize that you were in love with Crowley?’” Adam announced in a voice that was louder than was strictly necessary when discussing such matters.

 

The angel coughed politely, and then did what any sensible agent would do when being intimated as having an inappropriate relationship with the enemy: denied it. “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you are talking about, Adam Young… Crowley and I have no such relationship, and if you’d kindly stop insinuating such preposterous ideas and leave me back to my work,” he paused to take an unnecessary breath, “I would be much obliged.”

 

Adam gave him that Look. It was a look that no ordinary human could give, it bored straight into the inner recesses of your soul, and broke you open like Newt disassembling a toaster. Only, Adam was much more successful at it.

 

Aziraphale felt the inner reaches of his mind being breached and pried open by the young man in front of him. “Now see here!” The angel began to protest, but it was too late. He was being forced backward, through his memories, until suddenly everything stopped flying by, and crashed into a moment of jarring clarity, somewhere in early 17^th century England. Aziraphale was standing in an open field, surrounded by an angry mob. It writhed and ebbed around him, a tide of passionate rage.

 

There was a platform in front of him, with a long wooden pole in the center, and some kindling around it. Two large men dressed in the standard garb of Witchfinder Lieutenants manhandled a young lady with a bag over her head onto it. The woman was dressed in a modest outfit, basic tans and browns, but with a nice bodice, demonstrating that she was neither poor nor rich. She wasn’t even struggling. However, when the two men pulled off the bag and she saw her surroundings she began asking the members of the crowd for help. She implored her neighbors and friends to say something. She begged them to tell everyone that she wasn’t a witch, that they’d made a terrible mistake. The best response she received from any of them was for them to turn away and deny her; the worst was being bombarded by stones and jeers.

 

Aziraphale felt a dizzy nausea creep up from his stomach as the two Lieutenants tied this girl to the stake, and one turned around to get the fire to begin the burning. The girl had finally given up on the mercy of man, and had turned to the mercy of God. She raised her eyes heavenward and began to recite the Hail Mary.

 

This was too much for Aziraphale. He wasn’t supposed to have direct interference in the actions of mankind; but this woman was calling out for heavenly aid, and it was up to him to provide it. He huffed up indignantly and began to stride over, justifying the action to himself further as he marched through the heaving crowd. It was inappropriate for him, as a representative of God, allow an innocent woman, to burn at the stake simply because those doing the burning were not responding to his attempts to project a heavenly epiphany on them. He couldn’t be held responsible for the fact that no one in the crowd would do the holy thing despite his subtle influences, could he?

 

However, as Aziraphale reached the edge of the platform, and the Lieutenant who was not presently lowering the flaming torch toward the pile of kindling, something strange and surprising happened. A large, black puff of smoke appeared, and from it rose a dark, hooded figure. It looked out at the crowd through slitted, yellow eyes, and when it spoke, the glint of teeth that were slightly too sharp to be standard flashed. “Thou hassst made a terrible misssstake.” It hissed out, raising a black, gloved hand toward the frozen Lieutenant. Something about the voice was familiar, but Aziraphale couldn’t place it immediately, and did not have the best view from behind the burly, lumbering Witchfinder. The dark figure continued, “for it isss I whom thou hassst meant to perssssecute. It wasss I that plagued thy cropsss and murdered thy ssssheep. I who brought misfortunae on all of you. And it isss I that thou sssshalt burn!” The figure threw its hands skyward in a mockery of the innocent girls prayer and in an instant, the girl was gone and the figure remained on the platform in front of the stake. It grabbed the torch from the Witchfinder lieutenant and threw it into the kindling before stepping inside of the fire with a horrifying, unearthly shriek. As it burned along with the stake, kindling, platform, and rest of the field, a heavy black smoke billowed off of it, following the fire and the panicked running villagers.

 

When Aziraphale returned home, he found the girl, still tied up, on his bed. “Well now, that is just not funny at all, my dear.” He said calmly over his shoulder to the same black figure from earlier as it stalked out of a shadow behind him.

 

The figure threw its hood back dramatically and exposed a head of black hair, long enough to look uncut and rugged, but short enough to pull it off as attractive. “Just a present for you, Angel.” Crowley grinned and said through his teeth, giving Aziraphale a suggestive leer.

 

Aziraphale sat down next to the terrified girl, and untied her. As he opened his mouth to make sure she was alright, she dashed out the door, not even looking back at them once.

 

Aziraphale turned his gaze back to Crowley. “ So, what was that all about? What are you playing at?” He asked candidly. There was no point beating around the bush with pleasant conversation, he had to start packing immediately and prepare to leave the town within the hour. The poor girl would doubtlessly be spreading the word that he associated with the demonic consorts of Hell. Which, to be fair, he actually did do.

 

“What do you mean, Angel?” Crowly said sarcastically. “All I did was place some fear into their hearts. Besides, everything that I said was true, wasn’t it? I did poison their crops and kill their sheep and cause them more misfortune that they could even begin to fathom. Besides, once that girl begins letting it slip that I’m not truly gone, and that people amongst the town are in league with me,” he gave Aziraphale a pointed look, and stepped a bit too close for comfort. “Wild accusations will begin to fly and before you know it, the entire town will be at odds with one another.” He whispered the last few words into Aziraphale’s ear, his voice dripping with satisfaction, and something else. It made Aziraphale’s stomach drop uncomfortably. He didn’t like it.

 

“Or, you’ve shown them what true evil looks like, and now they will realize exactly what they are risking by going to hell.”

 

Crowley stepped back and shrugged, removing his gloves carelessly. “Or that.”

 

Aziraphale leaned forward to study Crowley’s face in an analytical way. “But why save the girl? You could just as easily have waited until they’d already burned her. Why go out of your way to save an innocent?”

 

“Well I couldn’t very well have her going to Heaven!” Crowley asserted. “But, good job figuring out how to cause the absolute most damage in the situation, Angel. Ready to switch sides are you?”

 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how it’d happened, but somehow, Crowley had backed him into a wall and was now standing uncomfortably close, a hand next to Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale could feel the force of that proposition bearing down on him and felt his stomach drop again. Was that temptation? No. He cleared his throat and straightened up. “No thank you, my dear boy. Now if you would so kindly be getting on with yourself, I have a cottage to pack after all, lots of things to attend to, thanks to your mischief.”

 

“Alright, Angel.” Crowley began to walk past him, and Aziraphale turned away from him to begin picking up a stack of folios, in what he hoped looked like an indifferent gesture.  He felt hot breath on his ear for a moment, as Crowley whispered, “See you.” But when Aziraphale spun around to chastise him, Crowley had gone.

 

Aziraphale shook his head to clear it, and began hastily throwing all of his belongings together into a large sack. A small smile creeped into the corners of his mouth though, he’d recognized the genuine kindness in Crowley’s face when he’d asked about the saving the innocent girl. Maybe there was, deep down, a spark of goodness in him after all.

 

Aziraphale was jolted back into the 21^st century, where a twenty-one year old Adam Young stood in front of him with a shocked and embarrassed look on his face. “You hadn’t realized it, had you?”

 

Aziraphale just stood there with an unreadable look on his face as he mulled over what all of this had to mean. He shook his head, once, twice, three times in an attempt to clear it of all of the dissonant buzzing of thoughts and buried emotions that had begun flying around. Was he in love with Crowley? Could he, an Angel, be in love at all? He vaguely recalled a conversation between Raphael and the original Adam about Angels and sex. He’d never done it, but he knew that when angels had “sex” it had seemed much closer to humans being in love than anything else that humans did. Aziraphale shook his head. But with Crowley? With a demon? That wasn’t exactly fair though, Crowley wasn’t just a demon, he was Crowley, for goodness sakes. He wasn’t like other demons. He wasn’t like anyone.

 

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped. That clinched it. He was in love with Crowley. He swallowed and repeated the thought aloud. Quietly letting the words slip out of his mouth and off of his tongue “I’m in love with Crowley…” His voice gained volume as he began to repeat it, “I’m in love with Crowley…” He looked at Adam once more and began to say full volume, “I’m in love with-“

 

There was a polite pounding on the door to the shop. Aziraphale’s eyes darted to the door in terror, briefly noting the black Bentley through the window, confirming his guess of who it would be. He looked back to Adam in a moment of terror. Adam motioned to the door.

 

Aziraphale stood up, brushing the dust off of his argyle sweater vest, and corduroy trousers, before walking briskly to the door and opening it. “Yes, Crowley?”

 

Crowley looked momentarily taken aback, and then leaned against the doorframe languidly. Bright yellow eyes met wide blue ones over the dark frames of Crowley’s signature sunglasses. “Are you feeling alright, Angel? May I come in?”

 

“Um, actually, I’m hosting company at the moment, so perhaps if you’d like to come back late-”

 

A blonde man blew past them. “Actually, I really must be getting on… as always, good seeing you Mr. Aziraphale.” Adam threw the excuse hastily over his shoulder, knowing they’d accept it. They had no choice. People rarely did when it came to Adam.

 

“Well that was odd.” Crowley murmured, before turning to face an ashen Aziraphale. “Are you alright? You look terrible.” Crowley said nonchalantly as he brushed past Aziraphale into the back room and sat comfortably on the couch.

 

Aziraphale didn’t say anything as he came in and sat down on the other end of the couch, far enough away from Crowley for comfort.

 

“Hello? Angel? Did you hear me?”

 

“Yes. I heard you. And I’m fine. Thank you.” Aziraphale said very shortly, he was suddenly very aware of little things about Crowley that he’d never noticed before. Things like how the corners of his mouth smirked upward every time he started to say anything, his smell, and the way that his hair fell around his face suddenly seemed to jump out at him and make him feel as though his insides would burst with the strain of holding all of this newfound emotion in.

 

“Oh, very good.” Crowley stretched himself out, arms spread across the back of the couch. “I actually was coming over here to talk to you about Adam Young. Did you know that he came by my flat yesterday to ask me a very interesting question?”

 

“No.” Aziraphale said, paling, his stomach dropping to the floor.

 

“Yes,” Crowley forgot himself a bit and almost hissed the S as he slid down the couch toward Aziraphale, arms still out. “Young Adam wanted some advice on how to show a friend that he was in love with someone. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

 

“Ridiculous. Yes.” Aziraphale nodded vehemently. He felt like he just may pass out and had forgotten to breathe about three minutes ago.

 

“I told him that that, as with anyone, he just has to see it for himself.” Crowley leaned in, his arm now behind Aziraphale. Aziraphale vaguely wondered how he Crowley could remain so relaxed. “What’d you tell him?”

 

“I- I- er-” Aziraphale started, “wait what?”

 

“What did you tell him?” Crowley asked calmly. “Did you tell him about when you fell for me?” He gave Aziraphale a disassembling grin.

 

Aziraphale stood up quickly, almost knocking over a coffee table, but managed to restrain himself, as it held one of his most valuable transcripts. “Now, really my dear!”

 

Crowley stood up as well, only much more gracefully, and taking off his sunglasses. “I figured you’d say something like that. Look, I know that’s what the kid asked you. And it seems to me that if he can see it, it’s about time we came clean to each other.” He’d steadily been walking toward Aziraphale, and had successfully backed him into a wall, oddly reminiscent of the time in Aziraphale’s memory.

 

Aziraphale was looking at Crowley like a deer in headlights, wide-eyed and powerless as Crowley leaned closer than he’d ever been and kissed Aziraphale gently on the lips. Aziraphale’s eyes remained wide and unblinking as Crowley pulled back, grinning mischievously. “So when did you figure it out, Angel? Or haven’t you yet?”

 

As he leaned in again, Aziraphale stopped him with a firm hand against his chest. “When did you?”

 

Crowley smiled even wider, sidestepping Aziraphale’s outstretched hand and weaved back in again, in a movement vaguely reminiscent of a slither. Crowley met his eyes a final time, shrugged, and said simply, “I always knew.”

 

Then both pairs of eyes slid shut and arms embraced bodies and lips met in a collision of souls that merged closer than any human body ever had before.

 

Outside a rough, female voice whispered, “Cor…” Her breath fogged the glass in front of her, blocking the two men from sight. Adam removed his arms from around her waist and stepped backward, grabbing her hand and giving her a light tug.

 

“Come on, Pep.” He twined their fingers together gently. “It’s rude to spy.”

 

“So, what happened in there?” She said excitedly. “What’d they say?”

 

“Let’s just say that now I know what to do about Brian and Wensley.” Adam said, giving Pepper a tug and walking away through London with her hand in his.