in which crowley asks god for aziraphale’s hand in marriage
(or well, not so much asks, but informs Her that it’s happening with or without her blessing)
Crowley sighed, trying to keep still; after years of trying to gain tolerance, it was still hard to stand on consecrated grounds. “Look, I want him. I know he’s your best angel and the only one worth even a fraction of your divinity with the rest of your lot being absolute tossers—” he sighed, shuddering a breath as his feet burned.
He looked up at the stained glass, spilling color beautifully onto the floor before him. “But I love him. And he loves me, believe it or not. And honestly, I still can’t believe it myself. Lucky bastard I am, right?”
But even its light refused to reach him.
“And I know it doesn’t mean anything if I asked—but to be clear, I’m not. ‘cause I’m marrying him anyways. That’s right. A demon and an angel, in un-holy-holy matrimony. Because he chose me damn you, and I love him for who he is while you only loved him for obeying and I—“
No. His cries and pleas were wasted here. Millennia of nothing but silence has taught him this.
But for Aziraphale—he’d do anything. “All I ask is…that you don’t make him suffer for his choice. Because I’m a demon. And I’m selfish enough to want to be his choice…even if it’s not the right one.”
Don’t make him fall—don’t cast him out because of me. Don’t hurt him because of me.
“So—just. Just stay out of it all right? Just. Keep quiet and don’t answer—don’t say anything.” He swallowed back lifetimes of bitterness. “You’re good at that.”
He was greeted with silence, just as he expected. The light filtering through dimmed and the colors washed away. Crowley felt his heart sink.
“We’re not getting married in a church, that’s for bloody certain,” he muttered as he turned away. “So. Yeah. Just letting you know.”
He exited the church, heart heavy for reasons he didn’t want to give thought, to give voice to.
As he stepped out onto the gray London day, a crash of lightning bellowed through the skies and for one, horrible moment, Crowley thought God Herself was storming down from the heavens to smite him where he stood.
Instead, a downpour fell, and Crowley watched wordlessly as passerby pedestrians scrambled for shelter at the torrential rain that followed. He himself was getting soaked to the bone but he did little more than stand still, feet still burning, though the pain was lessened somehow.
Well, he was, until he felt a familiar presence beside him.
“You’re getting soaked, dear.” Crowley looked up and found a familiar canopy of white feathers hanging over him. He chuckled and stepped closer.
Aziraphale looked at him, a quiet expression on his lovely face. Crowley expected him to ask a question, but this one wasn’t the one he’d expected: “Hm…doesn’t this seem familiar?” He gave a laugh when he was met with confusion. “Like when we first met.”
Crowley’s eyes widened, something in his heart swelling with something like gratitude, something like hope as he cast his eyes to the sky. “Yeah,” he managed to get out as Aziraphale laced their fingers together, a smooth metal band on his marriage hand warm against Crowley’s skin. “My thoughts exactly.”
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