ranguvar33 | Silence is Not Golden Chapter Three

Chapter 3: Moments in Time

Aziraphale glances up at the sky. “It looks like the rain’s finally stopped.” He stands and shakes out his wings, feathers fluffing up, and Crawley smirks at him. “Oh, don’t look so smug.” He extends a hand, and the demon stares at it, flinching. “Honestly. I just sheltered you with my wings! You can trust me.”

Crawley’s throat bobs, and he places his scarred hand in Aziraphale’s soft, plump one. The angel gently pulls him up, and they stare at each other for an eternity of a heartbeat. It is Aziraphale who breaks the silence. “Well. Umm...I should probably be getting along. No more humans in the Garden, so nothing left to guard. I take it you’ll be heading back as well?” He’s not expecting what happens next.

The demon’s eyes go wide in what Aziraphale is shocked to realize is horror. He shakes his head frantically, breath coming out in harsh, panicked gasps as his entire body trembles. Crawley clasps his hands together, eyes pleading, and Aziraphale feels a surge of Protection.

There is no way in Heaven or Hell that he is going to let this poor broken creature out of his sight. Okay, so said poor creature happens to be a demon, but something deep inside Aziraphale tells him that what he’s doing is the Right Thing. He’s more sure of this than he was the Flaming Sword.

“I won’t leave you alone, Crawley. I promise. Now, we just need to figure out how to get out of here.” He grins. “I wonder if the hole I helped Adam sneak out of is still there.”

Luckily, it is, and Aziraphale clambers through the opening before helping Crawley. He’s fitting the stone into place when a bright Light falls on him. Crawley bares his teeth in terror and crouches behind the angel as Her Voice comes from above.

AZIRAPHALE, ANGEL OF THE EASTERN GATE. WHERE IS THE SWORD I GAVE YOU?

“Sword? Oh, yes. Big, sharp cutty thing. Umm...I just had it. Must have put it down somewhere, lose my own head next.” Aziraphale makes a show of looking around. She’s not fooled, though, and he knows it.

AND THE DEMON CROUCHING BEHIND YOU?

Aziraphale straightens, staring up at the Light, defiance in his pose and voice. “I’m not leaving him, Lord. I was made by You to Protect, and this demon needs my Protection. Fall me if You must, but I will not let him go back to Hell.” He winces, waiting for Her to answer. When She does, She seems almost...amused.

THEN SO MAY IT BE. SILENCE AND STRENGTH, TOGETHER FOR ETERNITY.

The Light vanishes, and Aziraphale expels a breath he doesn’t even realize he was holding. Crawley comes from his hiding spot, and they gape at each other. “Well,” says Aziraphale, “that went much better than I expected.” Crawley nods, and together they set off across the desert.

They can’t be together all the time, of course. Aziraphale, for all that he was made to Protect, is also still Bound by the Rules of Heaven, and if he is Called, he must answer. But he tries to make the trips as short as he possibly can. It goes better for him when it’s Raphael he has to report to. The Archangel of Healing is polite, if a bit up his own arse. But he treats Aziraphale fairly, and doesn’t waste time asking for petty details. He reads the reports, signs them, and sends the Principality on his way.

Gabriel, on the other wing. Aziraphale dreads it when he has to report to him. Gabriel is a cruel, cold, capricious being. He sneers at Aziraphale, treats him like he’s something the Archangel has scraped off the bottom of his shoes. Aziraphale feels himself shaking every time, a feeling that is not helped by the other three angels that always accompany him. Michael was always intimidating, even before the War, but now she’s downright horrifying. Uriel is cold and calculating, and Sandalphon is, well, to be honest, Aziraphale’s still not entirely certain why Sandalphon didn’t Fall. He’s certainly got the capacity for Evil.

“..And things are going very well on Earth, The humans have prospered, despite the efforts of the Opposition, and they’re starting to worship God, and...”

“There’s too many of them.” Gabriel interrupts, and Aziraphale blinks in confusion. “They’re also not worshiping the way they should. Too many turning away from Her. She’s not happy.”

“N...not happy?” Aziraphale frantically wracks his brain, trying to think past the haze that always seems to fill it when he’s in Gabriel’s presence. “Well, look, maybe some of them don’t worship Her specifically, but in the end, it all leads back to Her. Right?”

“Wrong.” Gabriel’s smile is cold. “They’re heathens, and they need to be taught a lesson. So we’re going to flood the Earth. Wash it clean, start over.”

Aziraphale’s heart shrivels in terror. “All of it?!”

Gabriel shakes his head. “Not quite all. There’s this fella, Noah. Good man. Worships the way he’s supposed to. He’ll be spared, along with his family, but he has to build an Ark. God’s gonna tell him about it pretty soon. He’s also gotta bring two of every animal. Bit stinky, if you ask me.”

Aziraphale isn’t listening. The Earth. The Earth is going to be drowned. The Earth that, in the short time he’s been on it, he has come to love, along with the humans that make up a vast part of it. The Earth that has become more of a home than Heaven ever was.

The Earth that Crawley is a part of.

He has to get out of here now. He has to warn Crawley. He has to Protect him. “Well...it sounds...very final. I um...best be getting along. Things to do before the umm...Big Rain. Cheerio!”

He turns, half expecting to be Called back, but nothing happens. He keeps a leisurely pace right until he reaches the stairway, and then he’s running, stumbling over the steps. His wings flare out, and he flies faster than he ever has in his existence.

He spots Crawley sitting beneath a tree, watching a group of young humans run about. The demon seems almost relaxed, and he barely flinches when Aziraphale lands next to him. ‘Hello.’ They’ve been working on means of communication. Right now, it’s crude hand signals and words and pictures scratched into dirt. Crawley looks sideways at the angel. ‘You upset. Trouble?’

Aziraphale sighs, speaking as he signs back. “You could say yes. Flood.”

‘Flood? What flood? No rain.’ Crawley points towards the sky, which is an unblemished blue.

“From Heaven. They’re...drowning them. Not worshiping right.”

‘ALL? EVEN...’ Crawley points towards the children, and Aziraphale nods miserably. ‘NO. INNOCENT. WRONG. WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG’ Aziraphale’s hands close over his, stopping his rant.

“Believe me, I feel the same. But there is nothing we can do about it. And not...all. There’s Noah. He’ll be spared.”

Crawley snarls at him in his silent way and stands up, stalking off, his body rigid with fury. Aziraphale sighs and walks after him, mind churning.

Sumer, 3000 BCE, (approx the time historians believe writing was invented)

"I have something for you." Aziraphale says to Crawley, hands hidden behind his back. "I know we've both made great strides in...well, communicating with each other, but now that the humans have writing by making pictures on clay tablets and calling it cuneiform, I thought, well, it would be wonderful if we could communicate that way as well, but clay is so awfully inconvenient to carry around, definitely need to come up with something more portable, and..."

Crawley places his hand over the angel's mouth, eyes dancing with mirth. Aziraphale gets like this, and if not checked will ramble for hours. Crawley loves him for it. "Yes. Sorry." He brings his hands to the front, and presses something into Crawley's hand. The demon looks down. It's a rolled up piece of parchment, and... Crawley's eyes fill with tears. 'Angel', he signs, hands shaking with effort, 'Is that..?'

"One of my feathers, yes. I made sure it was safe for you. It won’t burn, and I thought maybe...the parchment's miracled to stay intact no matter what and.."

He's cut off by the impact of a silently sobbing demon slamming into him. Aziraphale carefully brings his arms around, holding Crawley as carefully as he can. One thing he’s learned over the millenia is that the demon does not show affection lightly, and he hates being touched without permission. Aziraphale is pretty certain this has something to do with whatever traumas he had endured while in Hell. “You are most welcome, my dear.”

‘Thank you.’ Crawley unrolls the parchment, licks the tip of Aziraphale’s feather, and writes. ‘HELLO AZIRAPHALE.’

Aziraphale’s smile makes the sun look dim. “Hello, Crawley.”

Golgotha: 33 AD

Crowley watches as the humans nail Joshua to the cross. She wishes with all her black heart that she could stop them, but she has no power to do that. Not anymore. Not with her Songs gone. So she does the only thing she can do. She watches, and she remembers. There’s a rustle of wings, and Aziraphale lands next to her. “I comforted Miriam as best as I could. Craw..I mean Crowley, you know you don’t have to watch this.” Crowley shakes her head in denial. “My dear boy..I mean, dear girl..” It’s been nearly a decade now since she’s changed names and genders, and Aziraphale still stumbles over the correct words. But male, female, both, or neither, Crowley is still Crowley.

‘I met him in the desert. He treated me like you do. Like I mattered. Learned Sign very fast.’

“Well, he is Her Son.”

Crowley nods, silent tears pouring down her face, and Aziraphale carefully takes her hand. “Well, if you must bear witness, than I will do so as well. I swore on Eden’s Wall that I would never leave you.”

ROME: EIGHT YEARS LATER

They stumble out of the restaurant, arms around each other in an effort to keep from falling over. “Wunnerful things, oysters!” Aziraphale says. “Scru..HIC...’scuse me. Absolutely scrummy! And wine! What a...brill...brill...what a nice thing! Wine.” He glances over at his friend. “Tol’ ya I liked you wiv short hair, right? Long too. Like your hair. Is pretty. Red.” He gestures expansively. “Was a good thing..us both gettin’...assing..assigm...gettin’ jobs here. Feel sorry for you though. Cal...right bastard, that Emperor.”

Crowley is too drunk to Sign, so he just nods, grinning as he makes a drinking gesture, pointing at Aziraphale. He had run from Caligula’s palace as quickly as he could, sickened by what went on there, and even now the dull haze of drunkeness doesn’t keep the memories entirely at bay. Thank Someone for Aziraphale.

“I din’t haff too..much. You...dramk a bunch.” He blinks. “Din’t even try an oyster.” The face Crowley makes is priceless, and Aziraphale cackles. The demon shudders, tongue sticking out in a ‘Ech’ gesture.

“You could have at least tried one. Been polite. After all, I bought wine.”

Crowley shakes his head, grimacing. Slimy, nasty things, oysters.

“We shoul...umm...get not drunk. Whossat called?” His face scrunches up, and Crowley smiles. “Sober! Is called sober!” They wince as the alcohol leaves their systems. “Well, that’s much better. Shall we see if we can acquire a room in a less...shady part of town?”

‘Sure, Angel.’

WESSEX, 537

‘It makes sense, Angel!’

“Crowley. We are together ALL. THE. TIME. Why would we need this...Arrangement?”

Crowley paces in his tent as Aziraphale watches. He makes faces, wringing his hands, then turns towards the angel. ‘It’s a fail safe. We both still have to do our jobs, right? You Bless, I Tempt. I just don’t have to answer to Hell. So long as I Tempt, they’re happy. But you still have to Answer to Heaven, right?’ Aziraphale nods. ‘And since we’re...together, we’re always in the same place. Right?’

“I...yes.” Aziraphale ponders this. “What you’re saying, is that in effect we’re canceling each other out.” Crowley nods. “But I still don’t understand...”

‘Simple. We swap, once in a while. I do Blessings, you do Temptings. We write up the reports, sign them, and our Bosses will never be the wiser. You could even make it seem like you’re following me around to stop my Evil Wiles.’

“Crowley, you wiley, evil, horrible serpent. That is the most brilliant idea I have ever heard.” Aziraphale smiles like a shark, and Crowley’s heart skips a beat.

GLOBE THEATER, 1601

Aziraphale climbs to his feet, clapping as loudly as he can, echoing the sound made by the humans that fill the packed theater. Crowley has more than kept his promise, and Hamlet is a rousing success beyond even the dreams of Will. Richard bows, eyes bright with happiness as he looks over the crowd. Will, who is standing in the wings and still not quite able to believe how quickly his luck has changed, catches Aziraphale’s gaze and mouths ‘Thank you.’ Aziraphale beams and gives him a thumbs up.

SWITZERLAND, 1770

“I have a present for you.” Aziraphale grins at his demon(and when exactly Crowley became his, he can’t really say). “I think you’ll really like it.”

Crowley eagerly holds out his hand, and Aziraphale places a small object into it. It’s shaped like a box, but it’s small enough to fit in his hand. ‘What is it?’

“It’s called a music box. I’ve noticed you have an...affinity for music.”

‘I...yes, you could say that.’ Crowley’s eyes are damp. ‘I was...’ he drops his hands, shaking his head in a NO. ‘Sorry. Bad memories.’

The angel’s face crumples. “Oh, I messed up, didn’t I! I didn’t even stop to think how it might make you feel, I just saw it and thought you might like it, I’m such a stupid, thoughtless, foolish angel, I’m worthless, I’m...” Crowley slams his hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

‘It’s beautiful, Aziraphale. Thank you.’

PARIS 1793

‘These crepes better be worth it, Angel. You nearly got yourself discorporated over them. I swear, I leave you alone for five minutes and you wind up locked in the Bastille. And here I thought you were the Protector.’ Crowley finishes writing and passes the Parchment over. Aziraphale looks contrite.

“In my defense, I do rather love crepes. Though I wish I could have kept that lovely outfit.”

‘The one that nearly got you beheaded? The one that was the reason I was forced to come and save you? The one that made it so I had to stop time and get us both out of that smelly dungeon?’

“You’ve made your point, thank you.”

Crowley smirks.

LONDON 1862

Fraternizing. Crowley can't remember how he got back to his flat. He doesn't remember opening the door or sinking to the floor, tears pouring from his eyes and clawed fingers gouging holes into his flesh. He can't focus on anything but that one word. He can't focus on anything... he can't focus..he should play his music boxes, that will make him feel better, make him feel…

Feel. He doesn’t want to feel better. He doesn’t want to Feel at all.

Yellow eyes go dark, and Crowley shuts down.

Aziraphale can’t remember how he got back to his shop. He can’t believe Crowley would throw away their friendship in such a callous manner by asking for HOLY WATER. He sinks to the floor, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall. He gulps, wondering how it had all gone so wrong. He had such a grand idea this morning. Meet Crowley at St. James, feed the birds,(they maintained separate residences to keep up the illusion of being Enemies), then back to the Shop for some drinking, then Aziraphale would give him the present he has had specially made. He looks over at the object sitting on the table, and can no longer hold back his tears.

LONDON 1941, AZ FELL AND CO.

“What on EARTH were you thinking, Crowley? You drop out of my life for DECADES. Decades in which I’m not sure if you’re dead, alive, or whatever, and then you just...SHOW UP IN A CHURCH, NEARLY GETTING US BOTH KILLED. I AM YOUR PROTECTOR, NOT THE OTHER BLOODY WAY AROUND!”

‘Because you were doing SUCH a wonderful job of handling it yourself! If I hadn’t shown up when I did, YOU WOULD BE DISCORPORATED. You trusted FUCKING NAZIS, ANGEL.’

“Which reminds me, how the HELL did they know you?! And why Anthony?”

‘I have a reputation, let’s just leave it at that. And Anthony...I just like the name.’

Aziraphale sighs. He can’t stay mad at this demon. “And the J?”

‘It’s just a J, really.’

“You wily Serpent.” Aziraphale’s gaze is fond, and Crowley beams. “I should probably give you this. Been holding onto it since 1862.” He snaps his fingers, and a music box appears in Crowley’s lap. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, a rich, dark red color with serpents and musical notes engraved all over. “Had it custom made. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but there’s this...song, or piece of music, that’s always been running through my head. About five hundred years ago I started writing it down as best as I could. Took me ages, especially since I had to learn notes and things like that. But once I got it down, I went to a specialist that makes boxes custom made and had him make that. It..the song makes me think of you.”

Crowley opens the box, and the Song...their Song, the Song he sang to Aziraphale in Heaven, comes pouring out. The demon blinks, eyes blurring with tears as he hugs his angel as tightly as he can.

1967

‘What in the Heaven do you mean, I go too fast for you?’

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “I mean that you are a Speed Demon, and I am not going anywhere with you in this contraption unless you promise you will not get us killed!”

Crowley grins and places his hand over his heart. ‘Promise, Angel.’

“Good. In that case, I have a case of Scotch at the Shop. Care to join me in a drink?”

‘Always.’