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Chapter Text

Aziraphale squirmed under the brush of Crowley’s hand, anxious to have this part of the fitting over.

“Will you please stop wiggling!” Golden eyes pleaded with him as Crowley glanced up from where he knelt, pinning a piece of fabric. “What are you afraid of, anyway?”

“You’re going to poke me,” Aziraphale complained halfheartedly.

Crowley leaned back on the balls of his feet, dropping his hands. “Aziraphale, Prince of the Swordbreak, have I ever once in our long acquaintance poked you with a pin?”

A laugh slipped from Aziraphale at the indignation on Crowley’s face. “No, my love, you have not.”

With a huff, Crowley dove back to his work. It was clear he was finished when he slid his hand tantalizingly slowly up Aziraphale’s leg, stopping when the blond inhaled sharply. “Right. Because I’m not going to stick you with a pin when there are other, more enjoyable ways to poke you.” With a flourish of his wrist, the fabric he’d been so carefully working on was loose and he stood to place it on his workbench carefully. “You’re nervous, want to tell me why?”

Yes. “Not yet.” The invitation he’d brought, complete with a wax seal was tucked away safely in his bag. “Did you want to work again this evening?”

Crowley’s eyes lit up. “That mean you found a new story for me?”

Aziraphale tucked an errant strand of red hair behind Crowley’s ear before he leaned in to kiss him quickly. “A princess and daring prince, wildly in love. With a happy ending, of course, it could be nothing else for you.” He pulled the book out careful to leave the envelope tucked away inside.

As the redhead dragged his small supply table over next to the sofa, Aziraphale took his seat and opened to the first page. He waited patiently for Crowley to curl up next to him with tonight’s embroidery work before he began to read the story of the long-haired princess locked away in a tower.

Night fell to the gentle cadence of Aziraphale’s voice and the soft noises of thread and snipping scissors. As they found their way to the happily ever after, Crowley set his work to the side and instead kissed his way up Aziraphale’s arm to his neck. His hand snaked forward to slide the buttons of Aziraphale’s doublet loose as the blond finally sighed out “happily ever after.”

Aziraphale closed the book, setting it to the side as Crowley’s hands slid up, pushing the doublet from his shoulders so that the redhead could lean in and kiss down the blond’s neck to his chest. “I like those stories,” he murmured as he slid to straddle Aziraphale. “Gives me hope.”

A shudder at those words raced through Aziraphale. Their relationship was not, had never been, strictly prohibited. But that was why the upcoming ball was critical. Crowley had been outstandingly patient with him from the moment he’d laid a calming hand on Aziraphale’s sword arm outside his shop the first time they’d met. He deserved better than this unacknowledged relationship. “Darling, can you wait, just a moment?”

Crowley pulled back until he sat comfortably on Aziraphale’s lap, looking at him expectantly.

“It’s just… that is…” He studied the bookshelf across the room wishing the words in his own head weren’t swirling, trying to find their place. “What if we made things official?”

“Official? What you’d like me to move to the castle? We’ve been over that. My work is here.” He took a shuddering breath. “And it's not as if I’d be accepted among the royalty there.”

Aziraphale reached up to cup his cheek, waiting until he was sure Crowley was ready. “No, not move to the castle. Would you…” He needed to say it, to force the words out. “Come to the spring ball with me? I simply don’t want any confusion as to who owns my heart.”

“That’s where they announce betrothals.”

“It is,” Aziraphale stated firmly. “That is what I’m asking. Traditionally I’d go to your parents, but given the circumstances, I rather thought you more than capable of answering for yourself.”

Crowley peered at him curiously, a trace of fear in those golden depths. “They don’t want me there. We found that out years ago.”

“I don’t care what they want. Mother is gone, there will be no protests. I’ve spoken to the King and father, well, I won’t say he was happy but he gave his permission. I want you, Crowley. And I want everyone to know that I am yours.” He brought the redhead’s hand to his lips and kissed them softly. “It won’t change anything, really. I know that. I don’t want you to worry anymore they may whisk me away from you.” He scoffed, “as if they could. As if I would ever leave your side.”

“You’ve thought about this.”

Aziraphale reached over into the bag and pulled out the invitation, holding it up gingerly.

“Is that… Aziraphale did you get an official invitation for me?” Crowley squeaked out.

“Only if you want it. If you do, it’s yours. As I am.”

Crowley took the heavy envelope from his hands, twirling it. He ran a finger over the wax seal at the back, the King’s lion insignia staring out at them both. “We can be together?” He asked softly.

“Well, wed anyway.” Aziraphale ran his hands up Crowley’s back resting them there as he leaned forward just slightly to rest his head on the redhead’s chest. “I rather think that we’ve been together for quite a while. I don’t want you to need to wonder or worry. I know you do. Don’t think I haven’t caught you staring at me in the mornings, that sadness in your eyes that I can’t quite erase.”

Crowley’s name shined on the front of the envelope and Aziraphale watched him silently sound his own name out, though he knew that was one of the few words Crowley could easily read. His deft fingers slid under the seal, pulling it open in a flash. He pulled out the invitation, his hand shaking. “I recognize my name. And yours. Your name, right there next to mine,” he marveled. “Read it to me?”

Aziraphale took the wavering paper and read it aloud.

From the Court of the King of Angels,

Crowley, the Tailor, is hereby invited to the Spring Ball at the request of

Aziraphale, Prince of Swordbreak and Guardian of Angels.

Should this invitation be accepted, the two shall be traditionally wed before the first snow.

There was a flourish and the signature of King Erich.

As Aziraphale read, Crowley’s eyes had shut. His lips formed every word after him as if he were committing it to memory. He didn’t open them as he whispered, “yes.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll go. Of course, I’ll go.” He leaned in and kissed Aziraphale, desperate and needy. “How could I ever say no to anything for you? And I… I want you. I can’t believe…” His eyes narrowed. “What will we wear? ”

The laughter that bubbled out of Aziraphale was pure joy. “You’re worried about that? Of all things?”

Crowley jumped from his lap and hurried over to the shelves where he stored his fabrics, pulling them out hurriedly. “I’ve only got six months, do you know how long it takes to create something beautiful enough for one of those balls? And I need to make two. Oh, we’ll be the most dashing there…” He glanced at a dark red before discarding it to the side with a tsk.

Aziraphale stood, straightening his doublet but not buttoning it. He came up and wrapped Crowley from behind. “What if you order something special? But my colors. For us both?”

“Your…”

“Not the Kingdom dark blue. My light one, I know you’ve got someone supplying that to you whenever you send off a letter, I’ve noticed how it seems to just magically appear whenever you’re in need.”

Crowley grinned wickedly. “I have my ways. But for me, truly?”

“Of course. We can be a matched pair.” Aziraphale nuzzled his neck. “But tonight, I’d rather celebrate with you a different way.”

* * *

Crowley walked backward, dragging Aziraphale by the hand towards their bedroom. He haphazardly pushed the doublet off the blond’s shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. It’d probably make the prince fuss later, but it wasn’t as if Crowley couldn’t repair it.

Partners. They would be official partners. It was something Crowley had dreamed of and never dared to ask. Princes do not marry tailors, particularly ones with a slightly questionable history. He’d been content enough to know he held Aziraphale’s heart, but this was a change. It was terror and elation wound together in one little bundle that was making him want to vibrate out of his skin as he fell back onto the bed.

Aziraphale’s lips found his own, pressing him down into the mattress as he groaned into the kiss. Too much. His prince was too much on a normal day, but right now Crowley felt awash in feelings. Luckily, Aziraphale seemed to sense it and his body pressed down against him, anchoring him as they kissed.

The fact that this pressed their two growing erections against each other delightfully was not lost on Crowley as he pushed his hips up, grinding them against Aziraphale. The kiss broke as the blond gasped out and then gave him a mock glare before working the buttons on his own far simpler shirt and pushing it off his bony shoulders.

It was more than he deserved, the gentle attentions his lover gave him as Aziraphale kissed down his neck to his shoulders, his hand darting into his breeches to start stroking his cock slowly. 

“Lay back and let me take care of you,” Aziraphale murmured leaning his chest against Crowley’s and pressing back. The tailor hadn’t even realized he had been leaning forward. He let Aziraphale guide him, relaxing back into the touch. Aziraphale’s other arm slid under his neck, supporting his head in an embrace.

It didn’t take long. Aziraphale knew just how to twist his wrist, how to respond to Crowley’s quickly writhing body. He stuttered out Aziraphale’s name, trying to call it. The prince shushed him with a kiss as he tumbled over the edge, spilling between them before settling back into the soft sheets, feeling as if every bone in his body had turned to soup. Aziraphale kissed his forehead and shifted to lay next to him as he held him.

Crowley turned, rolling to his side and nestling into Aziraphale’s warm embrace. At some point, their breeches had both been pushed down far enough that he could feel Aziraphale’s cock pressing hard and needy against him.

The blond slid a hand between his thighs, “May I?” he asked huskily.

“Please,” Crowley spread them just far enough for Aziraphale’s cock to slip between his thighs, mixing with the mess he’d already left there.

Aziraphale held him tightly, his chin resting on Crowley’s shoulder as he fucked him. His strong arms wrapped around Crowley’s chest, and the redhead traced the muscles there, glad to be caught in their embrace.

He knew his lover was close when Aziraphale’s breathing became erratic, coming in little gasps.

“That’s it, let go,” Crowley murmured.

With a quiet cry, Aziraphale did, his come leaking out onto Crowley. He’d be sticky, but he didn’t care. It was just a reminder that his love was here and with him. Aziraphale’s embrace loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go of Crowley.

“Can you stay the night?” Crowley dared to ask. He was worried about the answer, but Aziraphale only nuzzled him and hummed an assent.

After a moment the prince added, “and tomorrow. I cleared my schedule. Thought you might want to talk about details and outfits. Maybe you could try that golden heart embroidery against the blue that you’ve been waiting for an excuse to try.”

That would be nice, Crowley thought. But he didn’t quite have the words to say so, not right that moment. Instead, there in the arms of the one he trusted more than anything he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

When he looked back, Aziraphale would realize they had three months of joy and belief. That had been the only time allotted before life started to go sideways. It was three months, to the day, that his father died.

Gabriel stood next to the head of the bed, his hand resting over their father’s. “We will, of course, observe a time of mourning. A month, I think, would be sufficient.”

Azirpahale waved his agreement. It didn’t matter to him. It wasn’t as if he and the man had gotten along, he had mostly tolerated Aziraphale’s existence and the prince had done his best to stay away from his king. Yet with death came the promise that the relationship would never be repaired. That the long hope of someday would never come to fruition.

Erich had fallen asleep and never woken up. A peaceful passing for what most people would remember as a gentle king.

“When will we hold the funeral?”

“Tomorrow. And my coronation is a week from today. We must be sure that everyone knows we are handling the successions properly. There won’t be any challengers, at any rate.”

“No,” Aziraphale said lightly. “There are none who would. Do you need me for the rest of the day?”

Gabriel leveled a gaze on him. “You will stay in the castle, not go galavanting off to your tart in the town on the day our father passed. It’s time you start acting like the prince you are.”

Shocked rolled through Aziraphale. He tried to come up with a response, but instead, he nodded dully and walked in a daze from the room. His feet carried him almost automatically to the library where he tried to focus on finding a new storybook for Crowley. The castle’s collection was immense, but not well organized.

Hours passed and the sun set.

It wasn’t the day their father had died, was it? Still, he’d be circumspect. He nudged the books he’d selected into a bag and donned some black clothing, the color of mourning. As he slipped from the palace gate he mentioned to the guard there that he was going to drop the books by the scribe in town, and have him repair some of the bindings. The man waved him through without a word.

Aziraphale hurried to the back of the tailor shop and didn’t bother to knock as he slid in the back door. At the noise, the golden embroidery fell from Crowley’s lap as he launched himself into Aziraphale’s arms.

“I heard, oh I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“He was…”

“A mess. But still your father.”

The tears that had threatened all day finally spilled there, in the small kitchen of the tailor shop. Crowley held him tightly. Both of them focused on the events of the day, not realizing how events can ripple and turn in the stream.

Eventually, Crowley tugged him down onto the sofa, wrapping the quilt there around him. It was hand embroidered. The tailor had claimed each flower was something that made him smile. He tucked himself into Aziraphale’s arms wrapping them both in the blanket’s embrace as the prince rested where he needed to be the most.

“I don’t know what happens now,” Aziraphale finally confessed.

“Doesn’t matter,” Crowley said surely. “This doesn’t change. You have me, come whatever may.”

Aziraphale buried his face in the red curls. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Crowley murmured.

After a few minutes, Aziraphale pulled back with a sigh. “I should go. I wasn’t supposed to come. Gabriel forbid me from seeing you today and I may have stretched the allowances there just a bit. Keep those books safe for me though? I’ll read them to you next time.”

“You going to be alright? Should I… I’d come back to the castle for you, you know. Sneak in through your window.”

Aziraphale kissed the top of his head. “I know, my dearest.”

Crowley stood, wrapping the blanket more tightly around Aziraphale. “Take the blanket with you. In case you can’t get back here soon enough. Just wrap it around yourself, close your eyes, and picture my arms there holding you. I’ll be with you, there.”

The blanket was warm and smelled of Crowley and the herbs he kept around the shop. It was a comfort Aziraphale would allow himself as he folded it reverently. Crowley followed him to the back door where they both paused for one final kiss before Aziraphale slipped into the darkness.

* * *

Gabriel hadn’t mentioned Aziraphale’s foray out into town the night of their father’s death. He did, however, ensure that the prince had a list of official duties most days that kept him away from Crowley. Most of it was simply busy work that needn’t be performed, but his elder brother insisted under the premise of making sure everything was in line after the king’s death.

The funeral and subsequent coronation were a somber affair. While no one had been overly fond of the king, life under his rule had been easy. He had cared for the people enough to rule kindly. No one was quite sure what this change of power meant yet, and there was an air of tension over both the castle and town.

Two weeks after King Erich’s death, the new king had called Aziraphale to appear before him.

“It’s time you took a partner.”

“I have one,” Aziraphale said, confused. “You saw the letter from our father. He is to appear with me at the spring ball for our betrothal.”

Gabriel sneered at him. “A proper partner. One worthy of a prince.”

Aziraphale growled, “He is worthy.”

That night, Aziraphale had thrown the list Gabriel gave him to the side and instead hurried to the arms of his lover. Crowley hadn’t asked why he was in such a mood as he kissed him desperately, only responded, in turn, clinging to his prince.

A week later, Aziraphale brought a small locket he’d commissioned ages ago with him to see Crowley. He’d planned to gift it to him the night of their betrothal, but if he were being honest with himself he worried whether that would still happen. Inside the locket was a picture of the prince, and a lock of his hair.

Crowley fawned over the gift, holding it up and remarking on the artist’s skill. He declared the hair an “acceptable loss” as he reached up to ruffle Aziraphale’s curls fondly. Aziraphale kissed the nape of his neck as he latched the necklace for him, tracing where the chain fell across Crowley’s collarbone before disappearing, tucked carefully into his shirt.

The redhead leaned back, arching into his touch. “Do you… need to hurry back?”

Who cared if he was expected? His heart was here.

“You are all I’ve ever wanted,” he whispered as Crowley slid into him. He lost himself in the here and the now, refusing to consider what was to come. This was all that mattered, these stolen moments of theirs.

Crowley took his time fucking him. He ran a hand down every part of Aziraphale’s body as if worshipping him. The prince watched his beloved, unable to tear his gaze from the golden eyes that said everything that they could not find the words for. The locket hung from Crowley’s neck between them, swaying with Crowley’s movements.

When the redhead reached down to stroke Aziraphale’s cock, whatever control he’d had disappeared in a gasp. Crowley tumbled soon after, then fell down next to Aziraphale pulling him into his arms.

Aziraphale didn’t return to the castle until well into the morning, and he ignored Gabriel standing in the Grand Hall with his arms crossed as he headed for his room to change and clean up before his afternoon duties.

* * *

Crowley sewed furiously. For the last month since King Erich’s death, he’d poured himself into these outfits as if by crafting something beautiful enough he could tie Aziraphale to him. Still, as he knotted the final thread and held up his work for examination, it hardly seemed he’d started it at all.

The night that Aziraphale had invited him to the ball felt as if it were both yesterday and a lifetime ago. They had celebrated a safety that was so close they could taste it, and now it seemed further than ever. Why did Gabriel have to be such an absolute prat?

The gown he’d made himself was light blue and interspersed with golds and whites that made it appear as if it were a sunlit summer’s day he wore. He slid into it, twisting and shifting for effect and to check the fit and flare.

“You are going to stun the entire ball,” Aziraphale’s awed voice came from the back door. He always used that one anymore, never the front. There was no use calling undue attention to them. Still, his eyes were wide and Crowley couldn’t stop his answering smile. “I can’t believe— how did you…”

Crowley crossed the room to him, twirling the whole way as he did so before dizzily falling, trusting his prince to catch him. “Wait until you see what I have in store for you. Would you like to try it on?”

Before Aziraphale had a chance to answer, Crowley dragged him across the room to the wardrobe and pulled out the matching doublet and breeches. Stars danced across the chest of it while hearts lined the neck and wrists. Aziraphale gaped but Crowley shoved him haphazardly towards the room to change. “Go on, try it on.”

It took a little longer than it should for Aziraphale to emerge from their bedroom but when he did he was as beautiful as Crowley knew he would be. The doublet clinged to him in just the right ways to accentuate his arms and curves. He couldn’t help but reach out and run a hand down Aziraphale’s arm as longing filled him.

“Dance with me?” Aziraphale asked tentatively.

“There’s no music.”

The prince frowned at him, then began to hum softly as he pulled him in. And they danced. It wasn’t a grand ballroom, but the small shop was a better fit for them anyway. Aziraphale twirled him and caught him, kissing him fervently. For the first time in a month, some fear that had knotted around Crowley’s heart let go. Aziraphale was here in his arms and far be it that anyone try to take him away. They would fight to the death if they had to.

As the hummed song came to an end, Aziraphale pulled him close resting his forehead against Crowley’s. “You are the most gorgeous being I have ever laid eyes on.”

“You must have never looked in a mirror, then.” Crowley kissed him swiftly before he could argue.

They carefully removed and hung the outfits on the store’s display rack. Neither bothered to find another set of clothing nor try to make it back to the bedroom. For tonight, the sofa was enough and would give them the excuse of being as close together as possible.

As the morning light snuck through the curtains, Crowley worked up his courage to finally murmur, “Aziraphale?”

The blond hummed, though he couldn’t see his face tucked against the redhead’s chest.

Despite their dance, Crowley knew everything was falling apart. More than any other time, it felt like danger loomed on the horizon and that they were living on borrowed time. It was that, more than anything that forced the words from his mouth. “What if we just left? We could go off together. Plenty of other places, and… we could have this. Every morning.”

“Go off together?”

“I could stitch and you could scribe. We could wander the world, or find a place all our own.” When Aziraphale didn’t respond he continued, “I don’t want to lose you. And I’m scared, more afraid than I’ve ever been.”

“You won’t,” Aziraphale promised, tilting his head up to kiss Crowley’s cheek. “I won’t let them take me from you. But I have duties .”

“To who? Gabriel? He doesn’t care, he never has.”

“Crowley I can’t just run off! Who would I be if I did?”

A cold pang stole through Crowley. “Aziraphale. You would be Aziraphale. My best friend, my only love. The person who I have given my heart time and again. That’s who.”

Tears stole their way down the prince’s cheeks. Crowley cursed himself for even bringing it up, he had known how this conversation was always destined to go. Despite everything, Aziraphale would never leave. And Crowley couldn’t leave without him, not truly.

“I should go,” Aziraphale finally said.

“Not while you’re upset, please.” 

Aziraphale allowed them both that, burrowing back into Crowley’s embrace. They both ached with fears that the other couldn’t relieve.

Chapter Text

No one knocked at Crowley’s front door. That was what the little bell he’d hung over the shop’s entrance was for, and why he locked it so firmly when he didn’t want to be interrupted. Which was why he was startled by the knocking now. He straightened from where he’d been leaning over pinning the fabric pieces for a commissioned doublet he was working on, cracking his back as he stepped to the door.

As he laid his hand on the knob to open the door, it popped open despite the earlier knocking. Standing in front of him, in regal midnight blues his violet eyes nearly glowing stood Gabriel flanked by two guards. “Good afternoon,” he smiled winningly. “I think it’s time we have a little chat, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for a response and pushed his way into the room.

Gabriel turned his nose up at the small sofa with a sniff as if it were below him and instead pulled out a chair at the dining table, clearly deigning it acceptable. Crowley didn’t move from where he stood at the door.

“Surely you can show your… er. Desired brother-in-law the smallest bit of hospitality. Don’t you have some tea or at the very least some water we could share over a discussion?”

This finally moved Crowley from the door. He shut it with a glance out into the street, verifying Aziraphale was nowhere in sight. He shuffled, silently placing two tea mugs and their tea in front of Gabriel and then going to the kitchen to heat the kettle on the fire. Neither spoke as it warmed and he returned, pouring the hot water over both their tea leaves.

Crowley set the kettle down and settled across from Gabriel, watching the steam rise between them. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Gabriel lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip, gesturing for Crowley to do the same. It was too hot and burned his mouth slightly. But the familiar mint was calming and Crowley was grateful for the warmth in his hands to help steady him.

“You care for my sibling?”

“More than anything,” Crowley answered truthfully.

Gabriel considered his next words, taking another sip of his tea and waiting for Crowley to do the same. “You have to know that your connection to him is harmful to him. That he would be better off without you as an anchor around his neck.”

He knew. How could he not? This beautiful prince of his deserved far better than a simple tailor could offer. “Oh, I agree with you. But he has the right to choose whoever he desires.” And for whatever reason, Crowley knew that Aziraphale had chosen him. And proven that preference time and again.

“Is there any chance I could persuade you to be the one to leave? To seek your fortunes elsewhere? I’d be happy to offer you compensation of course.” Another pointed sip of tea.

“I think not,” Crowley grimaced as he drained his mug with a flourish and set it on the table. “We’re done here, you should be on your way.”

Gabriel smiled at him, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was actually more of a leer, but why was it suddenly hazy?

“Oh, we are done here. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. I don’t get rid of bargaining chips that could be useful.”

Crowley tried to blink his eyes to clear them but he had a hard time reopening them. He felt as if control was yanked from him and he fell to the ground with a thud.

“Take him to his room. Make it look as though he died in his sleep, as my father did. Afterward, I trust you all have a body to swap with his for Aziraphale to bury? Excellent.”

A scream tried to tear out of him but was stopped by his inability to move. His eyes found Gabriel’s and the King nudged him with his shoe.

“Relax. It will make it easier. He’s going to believe you’re gone, one way or the other. When you wake up, you won’t need to worry about this ever again.”

He wanted to fight, but he didn’t have the strength. Darkness claimed Crowley.

* * *

Aziraphale knew when he was being intentionally stymied by his brother. The list in his hands would keep him busy until nightfall if he allowed it, but it was all pointless work. He did his best to complete the majority of the items but as the sun threatened to sink beneath the horizon he threw on his favorite cloak, a gift from Crowley years ago, and hurried down into the city.

There were guardsmen outside his tailor’s shop. Aziraphale froze, not knowing whether to proceed or hurry back to the castle. One of the men spotted him and nudged the other, and that made his decision for him. If he were seen he may as well own it, so he pushed his way between them and into the small shop where to his surprise Gabriel stood looking bereft.

“I’m so sorry, this will come as a shock. And so soon after our father…”

“What are you saying? Where’s Crowley? ”

Gabriel stepped back, clearing the way to gesture Aziraphale back towards the bedroom. He rushed forward, anxiety welling up and threatening to swallow him whole.

There was something about how Crowley rested in the bed that felt wrong. He was too still and even before he made it to the side of the bed, Aziraphale realized that his chest was not rising or falling.

“Crowley?” his voice cracked. The redhead was paler than Aziraphale had ever seen him. As if he had been drained completely, the parts that made him sucked from the vessel before him. A sob tore through him. “No.”

The distance seemed insurmountable, but Aziraphale reached out to take Crowley’s hand. It was as cold as ice. The memory of Crowley resting cold hands on his own to warm them came unbidden to his mind. But then, his love’s eyes had danced where now all was quiet. And he had never been this cold.

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale managed in a strangled voice. “Wake up, please.” Crowley had never denied him anything. In fact, far too often he gave too much. The only reason he would lay there, not waking was if he could not. If he could not—

It felt as if his brain were shutting down to protect himself. It was this morning, just this morning he had kissed him goodbye at the door. Unspoken promises between the two that they’d be together again soon.

Crowley didn’t move.

The locket rested high on his chest. It should move, ever so gently with the rise and fall of his breath. It did not. Aziraphale knew he was crying, he did not care. Nothing mattered anymore. He should have taken him and run this morning as he asked. He should have been with him. He should have—

“We should have a proper burial. I can send the men around to collect him. Bury him in the family cemetery.”

Only now did Aziraphale realize that Crowley wasn’t wearing the clothes he’d left him in. And the buttons to his sleeping shirt weren’t fastened correctly. He was always so fastidious about his clothing. The grey ashen face that would look at him no more reminded him so much of his father and pieces slotted into place. His father had been old, it had not been unexpected but Crowley was so alive so—

“You…” Aziraphale growled.

“What ails you?” Gabriel asked innocently enough. “Is there somewhere else you’d prefer he be buried?”

Fire ran through Aziraphale’s veins as he met his brother’s eyes. The truth shone there, even if he had no proof. This was his brother’s doing which meant— his fault. This was his fault. If he had just given Gabriel what he wanted Crowley would be safe. Another sob wrenched from him.

Gabriel tried to wrap an arm around him, and Aziraphale tried to take a swing at him before his arms were pinned down.

“You will listen before you lose even more.”

“I have nothing left to lose,” Aziraphale spat out knowing it was true. What more could be taken from him? Nothing else mattered.

“You will listen,” Gabriel hissed in his ear, “or I will have this shop burned to the ground. Every memory you have of him, I’ll ensure is destroyed. I will charge his name with treason so that it cannot be spoken and you are unable to speak it evermore. Do you understand me? I will make what is left of your life a hellscape where he is not only gone but erased.” Aziraphale sagged in his grip. “Or you can behave and we’ll have a proper burial for him. He will be honored as your consort and given a place in the records. You can even keep this pitiful shop to do with as you will.”

He had no proof. But he would find it. If Aziraphale did nothing else, he would discover how his brother had murdered first his father and then his heart, and he would see the King fall. He nodded his agreement and when Gabriel released him he fell into the bed, curled up next to Crowley’s body for what he knew to be the last time.

It was less than an hour before they arrived with a stretcher and wrapped Crowley’s body in the sheet to be carried away. Aziraphale stayed there for a moment before he dragged himself back to the castle and his rooms. Tomorrow morning, they would have a funeral. For now, he wrapped himself in the blanket Crowley had sewn, his fingers tracing the intricate flowers. Crowley’s voice promising that he would be there, that the blanket was its own embrace was all he clung to. He did not sleep.

In the morning, he walked to the cemetery as if it were a dream and watched as they lowered the body still wrapped in the sheet into the ground. He took a shovel and helped to bury him, this one last act of love he could offer.

The others filed away. Some offered him pitying looks or a comforting hand on the shoulder. When they were gone, Aziraphale sank first to his knees and then fell to the ground above the freshly turned earth. His hand dug into the dirt, grasping for a touch that would not come. He lay there, his heart brittle and broken, and prayed to the fates to take him. He had no business walking a world without Crowley in it.

* * *

Not so many miles away, Crowley began to feel first his fingers then his toes. His head ached as if he’d drank an entire wine cask on his own, a mistake he hadn’t made in years. Slowly, his body came back to him and with it his memories. Aziraphale. They were going to… his prince would think he had left him. As swiftly as he felt a stomach, it began to drop.

Chapter Text

Not so many miles away, Crowley began to feel first his fingers then his toes. His head ached as if he’d drank an entire wine cask on his own, a mistake he hadn’t made in years. Slowly, his body came back to him and with it his memories. Aziraphale. They were going to… his prince would think he had left him. As swiftly as he felt a stomach, it began to drop.

Aziraphale would never believe them. Whatever story they concocted about him running off and leaving the prince behind surely wouldn’t hold up to the mildest of scrutiny. Except that he’d already suggested it just that morning. He had to know that Crowley would only leave with him, didn’t he?

Crowley pulled himself to a sitting position, back against the cool stone wall. Usually, he hated the cold, but right now it energized him, allowing him to feel grounded in this small cell. His hand reached up to close around the locket Aziraphale had given him, holding onto it as if it were a lifeline in this strange place.

A small hole in the door creaked open and a plate and glass were set inside before it slammed shut. Crowley crawled over to it, drinking the water greedily and then slowly picking at the stale bread as he ate. He’d need his strength to get out of here and back to Aziraphale. If the prince didn’t come for him first. Let him be safe, please let him be safe. He didn’t know what he’d do if Aziraphale injured himself trying to get to Crowley.

Hours passed. Then a day. Aziraphale had not come.

This time it wasn’t the small hole that opened, but the entire door. A guard stood there, sword at the ready. “You’re to join the others.”

“Others?”

“You don’t expect us to take care of you while you sit in this tower like a princess, do you?”

The memory of the last story Aziraphale read stole through him. He could leave this tower and get back to his prince. “No, not at all.” Crowley stood and followed the guard down the stairs and to a padlocked yard.

A few dozen people mingled there. Some peered at him curiously but most ignored his arrival. The guard gestured for him to join the yard, and he cautiously stepped into the shade of an apple tree, trying to measure this new situation.

A hand closed around his neck. “Who we got here? New princeling? Look at those clothes, never seen anything so fancy.”

Crowley’s captors had thrown a black tunic and hood over his shirt. By the standards of his clever fingers, it wasn’t anything elegant but he was a tailor and couldn’t go around looking scruffy. “Leave off,” he grumbled, trying to pull free.

“Take it off, fancy boy. I think you’re about my size.”

“Said no,” Crowley snapped back.

The man lifted him choking him slightly. He had to get back to Aziraphale he had to—he lashed out catching the man in the shin. He fell to the ground gasping for breath but then the man kicked him in the side, forcing him to curl up.

“Oi!” A high-pitched voice interrupted. “Leave him alone, Oscar.” A petite person pushed between them. All Crowley could see were well-made leather boots in front of his face. “No one needs you bullying in the yard today.”

The big man, Oscar Crowley noted to himself, lumbered off to the other side of the yard and an oval face framed by black spiky hair peered at him. “You need help getting up?”

Everything ached as Crowley stood, but he managed it. His new friend nodded approvingly. “I’m Elva. You met Oscar. There are all types in here.”

“Where am I?”

“Oh, did he hit you on the head before I got here? Royal prison, my friend. The one where they throw you away for life.”

The memory of Aziraphale laying out the plans for the prison on the table in the tailor shop while he tried to discuss how to add more humane details washed over him. It had to have been at least a decade ago.

Elva took his arm and yanked him over to the food stores, helping him make the first meal for himself for the day. “New people always get them going a bit. They want to blame their woes on whoever arrives, sure that it’s somehow your fault. What are you in for? Treason? Espionage?”

Crowley gazed at her wondering how much he dare say and then shrugged internally. She’d either be a help or she wouldn’t. “Fucking the prince, actually.”

Her eyes went wide before she chortled. “Prostitution then? Did you at least get something out of it before they took your life away?”

The apple on his plate threatened to roll to the ground as he sat haphazardly. “Not prostitution. Love. His brother thought he deserved someone better, but that’s not his choice to make. What are you in for?”

She bit into a plum, its juices dripping down her fingers and a grin on her face. “Perhaps I’ll tell you sometime. We don’t all wear our hearts on our sleeves, Romeo.”

“Crowley,” he corrected.

“Not like it matters anyway,” she sank down on the ground next to him gracefully. “We’re all stuck here, now. No matter who we were on the outside.”

“I’m not staying here, I’ve got a date to keep.”

“You can’t even handle Oscar and you think you can make it out of this place?”

“He’ll come for me.”

Her eyes turned to pity. “No one comes here. Especially not princes.”

Crowley bit into the apple, chewing it slowly. “He will come.”

Elva weighed her choices and decided not to argue. Instead, she leaned a head on Crowley’s shoulder. “Tell me news of the outside? I’ve been here for months.”

So he did, as only one privy to the gossip of a castle could.

* * *

Night was falling, and with it came the threat of snow. Aziraphale shivered against the cold ground, but still, he did not move. What was the point? He could make his brother pay, but nothing would bring Crowley back. The tears froze on his face.

“Are you alright?” A gentle voice asked.

A hand came down to softly touch his cheek. “Still alive, at least.” He watched her hand reach out to touch the headstone, tracing each of the letters. He could have put Crowley’s name on it, but somehow the simple epitaph of “Beloved” felt more real. Perhaps it was just another stage of denial. “You must have loved her very deeply.”

“Him,” Aziraphale breathed out.

“Ah, you can speak.” She sat down next to him. “Why does no one stay with you on your watch, dear stranger?”

He didn’t bother to answer that question. To most denizens of the castle, it would probably be for the best if he just disappeared.

“Well, I can’t leave you to freeze. Can you stand? You’d not leave a lady in distress, would you?”

It was her red hair peeking from under her head scarf that caught Aziraphale’s attention. He knew it was rude, nevertheless, he reached out, catching the stray strand.

She caught his hand but didn’t push it away. “Did he have red hair?”

“As shining as the sun itself,” Aziraphale gasped.

“Right. Alright, up with you. Now.”

Direct orders he could do. He stood, though everything in him longed to no longer move.

“You may call me Lea.” She reached out to take his hand. “Where do you belong?”

There was no good answer for that. Gabriel would surely be expecting him back at the castle, but he had no desire to see his brother. “The tailor shop. Next to the waterfront.”

If she thought his instructions were odd, she didn’t let on. Nor did she relinquish his hand as she led him through the town. When they arrived at the shop, the door pushed open easily. Lea shoved him down onto the sofa as she rummaged in the kitchen for water and food.

“Eat,” she said as she placed the food directly into his hands.

It was easier to eat than to argue, so Aziraphale did. Then he drank the water from the cup she placed in his hands. Everything tasted of dust. As he did so, Lea examined the shop. The gown and doublet still hung front and center. “Did you make these? They’re magnificent.”

The empty cup fell from his lifeless hands. Crowley’s eyes shining. “He did.”

“They’re fit for a royal ball.”

“The Spring Ball,” Aziraphale confessed. Why was he speaking?

Lea sat down on the footrest next to the sofa. “You’re not the tailor. Who are you?”

“Prince Aziraphale.” How empty that felt. He had asked Crowley who he would be. He had the most worthless part left to him. The rest was buried in the cold earth.

Lea’s hands shook slightly. “Well, Prince Aziraphale. I don’t think I should leave you here. Surely you’d be more comfortable at the castle?”

There was no comfort left for him, but he didn’t have it in his heart to argue with this kind individual. He couldn’t find any words at all.

A few minutes passed in which she waited for him to fight or say anything at all. Finally, she stood and took his hand again. Aziraphale insisted on locking the door behind them, then allowed himself to be led towards the castle. Lea wasn’t challenged by the gate guards, and he wondered if she worked in the castle. Yet he didn’t recall ever seeing her before.

Gabriel stood in the Great Hall, his arms crossed. “Thank you, Princess Azalea for seeing him home.”

Princess, that explained it. His mind sank back into nothingness as Lea bowed respectfully.

“It was my pleasure.”

“Yes, well. Your future partner is normally in a better attitude. I hope that over the next six weeks he will show you every respect as we prepare for the Spring Ball.”

Aziraphale knew he should be worried. He couldn’t bring himself to be. This was the whole point, wasn’t it? The reason Crowley was gone. He couldn’t bring himself to hate Lea for it. She seemed good-hearted.

“I’ll escort him to his room if it pleases the king?” Lea said primly.

Gabriel took her hand and kissed it, thanking her profusely before he let them go on their way. Aziraphale never spoke, and his brother never addressed him.

“Show me the way,” Lea whispered as they left the Great Hall. And Aziraphale did, there was no reason not to. 

As they entered his room, his eyes fell once more on the blanket, a strangled sob escaping him. He reached for it and a flake of mud fell from his jacket causing him to yank his hand back as if burned.

Lea seemed to understand. She carefully brushed the dirt from the blanket and moved it to the head of the bed, then helped him disrobe. “I’m going to call for a bath for you, you’re covered in mud. I know you don’t want it, but… the blanket. Can you do it for that? We’ll take it one step at a time.”

“Y-yes.”

“What would you like me to call you?”

“Aziraphale, please.”

Princess Azalea cupped his face with her hand. “I know it doesn’t seem it right now, but this hole will not swallow you forever. The one I love is missing, she has been for… a long time. Too long. Nothing would keep her from me. I remember the day I lost hope. One day you’ll learn to breathe again. I’m sorry to have been the cause of this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Aziraphale firmly replied.

“That’s the most alive I’ve seen you. Your love, he wouldn’t want you to fade away. If you can’t handle the next few days for yourself, perhaps you can for him.”

In the depths of his soul, he knew she was correct. Crowley wouldn’t want him to be miserable.

“His name was Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “He had deft fingers, fire-red hair, and the most beautiful smile.”

“I wish I had met him,” Lea whispered. And Aziraphale, despite everything, believed her. They were interrupted by a knock on the door and the servants bringing the water for a bath.

Aziraphale didn’t remember much of the experience, but he was wrapped in a nightshirt and curled in his bed, Crowley’s blanket wrapped tightly around him. It still smelled of his tailor. In his mind, as he nodded off he saw Crowley’s smiling face the day Aziraphale had shown up with the first bolt of silk, pleading for help. He lost himself to the memory as he drifted into sleep.

Chapter Text

Elva was hiding something, Crowley realized quickly. He wasn’t about to pry it from her but she did seem the most likely to be both able and willing to help. On the third day when Aziraphale had not appeared, he approached her cautiously. “I know you can fight.”

“What’s it to you?”

“Teach me.”

“Why should I do that?”

Crowley leaned down close so that only she could hear. “I know the plans of this prison. My ideas helped construct it. I can get us out. But I can’t fight. That would be helpful.”

Elva picked at her nails. “What if I don’t believe you? You probably don’t even know the prince.”

“Fine,” Crowley shrugged. “We’ll both just stay here.” He wandered back across the yard, kicking rocks as he went. 

Nights were spent in a communal barracks. Crowley had staked out a bed away from the others. It was cooler there in the frigid winter, but he felt safer alone than mixed in with the rest of the crowd.

Two nights later, Elva waited on his bed. “I’m not going to lay with you.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re not my type.”

“So when you said fight…”

He mimicked a couple of punches and watched as she deflated. “I can teach you, but we need to do it at night.”

“How come?”

“Don’t want the guards getting antsy. I know a place.” She slid from the bed and headed towards the door. “Coming, fancy boy?”

“Not a boy,” Crowley grumbled as he traced her steps through the dark.

Elva glanced around before she lifted a loose board and gestured Crowley through a fence. It didn’t lead to anywhere in particular, if Crowley recalled correctly this was supposed to be extra housing space, but it stood empty. His new trainer struck a match, lighting a small lamp. Next to it was a small pile of books that had obviously been stashed away here, along with a blanket and hammock.

“Right. So, show me what you know.”

Aziraphale had taught Crowley some basic self-defense. His prince has kissed down his neck, promising to protect him always but admitted he’d feel better if Crowley could hold his own.

Elva praised him accordingly, and once or twice stepped in to correct a hold. “The one who taught you, he was stronger, wasn’t he? You’re tall, but you’re not muscled. Use that to your advantage. Move fast, instead.”

They trained for hours, and by the end, both of them rested catching their breath. “Again, tomorrow?”

“It’s a deal.”

“And when do you keep your end of the bargain, so that we can make our escape?”

“It will take time,” Crowley warned. “But in the yard tomorrow, let’s meet.”

The moon was high in the sky as they made their way back to the bunks. Crowley fell into his with every muscle aching, but his sense of hope renewed. I’m coming, I promise.

* * *

A week had passed in a blur. Aziraphale wasn’t really aware of what was going on around him. Others told him orders and he followed them. Most often, it was Lea’s presence there coaxing him gently. From time to time, she pulled him to the castle grounds helping him walk the gardens.

The day he spotted daffodils pushing their way through the cold, he began to shake and didn’t stop for hours. Lea had guided him back to the room, wrapping Crowley’s blanket around him and holding his hand until it stopped.

“I’m sorry, you deserve the prince of your dreams.”

Her laugh had a brittle edge. “All I’ve ever wanted is my hunter. Sleek and beautiful. No prince could stand up to her.”

And Aziraphale understood. The two were united in their misery, yet Lea was determined that he hold on. One night she confessed she searched for her own hope and wondered if she’d find it seeing him through this time. Lea never criticized him when he cried, unlike Gabriel who banished him from sight the moment a tear threatened.

At the end of a week, she asked him if he’d like to go down to the tailor shop. Aziraphale didn’t know that being there would help any more than the castle, yet he carefully folded the blanket and pulled a winter cloak on to accompany Lea.

There were two mugs left on the table that Lea cleared away as she poured some fresh tea for them both. Aziraphale’s eyes fell on the basket of scrap fabrics Crowley kept. He pulled off his glove and automatically reached out to pick up the top piece. It was soft cotton. The type Crowley favored for his own shirts. He ran a thumb over the fabric, closing his eyes for just a moment and letting himself pretend Crowley stood there waiting for Aziraphale to pass the shirt to him.

The thunk of a mug on the table interrupted his thoughts and Lea reached out, gently pulling the gloves from his hands and pressing a mug into them instead. “Did Crowley make these?”

They had been making love and Crowley had felt the callouses of his hands. Aziraphale had mentioned that they were from his sword training, so he’d be better able to defend the tailor if he ever needed to and the redhead had been shocked the prince had considered such a thing. The next day, he asked to measure, and two days later the softest gloves waited for him when he arrived.

“I swore I’d protect him. Against anything. This is my fault.”

“No, sweet prince it is not. You don’t control the actions of others.” Lea sat on the sofa and waited for him to join her. “You can tell me about him if you’d like. If it would help? Or we can just sit here.”

“Sitting here it’s as if I can feel him surrounding me. Like he may step out of our bedroom at any moment, a mischievous grin on his face. My hands feel so oddly empty without his to hold.”

Lea picked up a piece of fabric from the scrap bin and some thread. “Would stitching help? Perhaps you’d still feel close to him, but it would help you focus?”

It couldn’t hurt. Aziraphale took the supplies from her hands and threaded the needle. He wondered what to create, and then he thought of the blanket and began to stitch. If he were doing it correctly, it would be a rose.

His friend wandered over and pulled a book from the shelf. She curled up in the far too big chair and they sat together. Aziraphale couldn’t help but consider how familiar yet wrong it felt. They stayed there quietly for hours. The small rose he’d made wasn’t anywhere near as good as those Crowley’s hands crafted, but it was passable.

“Can we stop by the graveyard on the way back to the castle?”

“If you’d like.”

Aziraphale tucked the rose into his pocket and took the mugs, washing them and putting them away. He slowly set the room into order, but dared not approach the ball gown and doublet. Lea had picked up more of the fabric scraps and thread, tucking them into a basket that she looped over her arm. “In case you’d like to do more stitching,” she explained easily.

Crowley’s grave was still cold. He wondered if he could plant flowers here to bloom in the spring. It was what his love deserved, a bed of flowers as beautiful as he had been. For now, Aziraphale took the rose embroidery from his pocket and set it down at the headstone. This would have to do until spring.

* * *

Elva and Crowley sat companionably waiting for the mid-day meal to be served. When it was, to their surprise it was a veritable feast.

“What’s the occasion?” Elva asked happily.

“Prince’s engagement was announced,” the guard grunted.

“Gabriel?” Crowley asked perplexed. There were only the two of them but Gabriel—

The guard rolled his eyes even as he added a large serving of ham. “Don’t you even know the royal family? That’s the king. The prince is Aziraphale.”

The blood drained from Crowley’s face as he clenched the plate tightly. Aziraphale. It all made sense, why else get him out of the way unless they were going to push him off to someone else? But his prince went so easily? The fact that he hadn’t come searching for Crowley now three weeks later still made his heart ache and worry. There had to be something more at play. Maybe he thought he was protecting Crowley by going along with it all.

He sat heavily at the table, Elva across from him. When he didn’t touch his food, she reached across, spearing a slice to take herself. Seeing his lack of response she asked, “he’s your prince, isn’t he? Aziraphale?”

Crowley’s hand came up to clench at the locket as it had so often. “Y-yeah. He is.”

Elva stole the rest of his meal in bits and pieces as she studied him.

That evening when they stole away from the barracks his fighting was lackluster despite the leaps and bounds he’d made recently in training. After she’d disarmed him a half dozen times, Elva taunted, “Your prince doesn’t want you. He’s not coming. Are you going to waste away in here mooning for a fickle, spoiled royal?”

Aziraphale’s face swam in his vision for just a moment. The way he reached out and cupped Crowley’s cheek as he pulled him in for a kiss. The years of fear and worry poured out in one loud yell and Crowley fought back viciously. Elva laughed as they twirled and fought, even as Crowley pushed her back. “That’s it,” she encouraged. “You’re finally fighting.”

Crowley disarmed her, the stick she used as a staff falling from her hands as if she’d been bitten. When he forced her back, she tripped over a rock falling to the ground. For the first time since he’d met her, Elva looked worried.

His hair had come loose and framed Crowley’s face as if it were fire itself. “He is not an unfaithful, spoiled royal. You will not mock him in my presence.”

“You don’t doubt him? He could have moved on.”

“For decades Aziraphale has stood between his family and me, always choosing me. Always protecting me. I do not doubt his love. May as well doubt that the sun shines.” Crowley shook his head to clear it. “His heart has always been mine, as mine is his.”

Elva pulled her knees into her chest before responding in a small voice. “Her name is Azalea, but her friends call her Lea. We… we didn’t have that long. But it was enough. And I love her. I was foolish, I trusted the wrong person and wound up here. I don’t even know if she’s still waiting for me, I can’t have blamed her if she moved on. I left for a hunt near a year ago and never returned.” When Elva finally turned toward him, her face was ragged. “I’ll do what I can to get you to your Aziraphale. Do you think… he… maybe…”

Crowley knelt, offering a companionable hand that Elva accepted. “We will get you to your Lea. I promise.”

“How do I know what you say is true?”

With a soft sigh, Crowley pulled the locket from under his shirt and opened the catch. “A truth for a truth,” he muttered and opened it so she could see the prince inside. “For him and me. For you and Lea. None of us deserve this. We’ll get you there, Elva. Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“He’s beautiful.”

Crowley stole a peek at the locket as he closed it, tucking it back into his shirt against his heart. “He is,” he agreed easily. “It’ll be a few more weeks before that tunnel in the wall is wide enough to fit through. But we’ve got the guards’ clothes so we won’t look suspicious. We’re going to make it out of here, I promise.”

“Right, well. We better get you ready to take on the castle guards, then.”

“Or just Gabriel,” Crowley said menacingly.

Chapter Text

It was one more week until the Spring Ball, and Aziraphale’s heart ached. He had learned to go through the motions of life. There was so much that was required simply to exist. Azalea mentioned he had lost weight, and she sounded concerned.

Gabriel had sent him to get an older midnight blue outfit fitted for the Spring Ball. It was one of Crowley’s earlier works before they’d become close. He didn’t flinch as the tailor pinned it to take it in.

There were no longer lists of chores to complete. All of his time was his own. Nominally, it was to get to know his betrothed. While Lea accompanied him often, there were times she sent him on his own as well. Messengers came for her often, and when he asked about them trying to make conversation she said they were looking for her hunter.

Aziraphale took her hands and held them tightly. “If they find her, go to her. Run, and don’t look back.”

She had thrown herself into his arms, hugging him. He hadn’t quite known what to do so he patted her back awkwardly. “I know you won’t believe me, but you are really an angel.”

“Just a lowly prince, I’m afraid.”

Most days he spent at the tailor shop. He tried to embroider more roses, using Crowley’s spare spools of thread. A rose in what seemed every color of the rainbow now covered the grave.

This day, he lay on their bed. Weeks ago, the first time he’d gone back to this room, he had fallen to the floor remembering Crowley as he’d last seen him. That hadn’t been what he wanted, so he put clean sheets on the bed and curled up there trying to remember every memory they’d made in the small room. Countless nights of quiet touches and kisses. The first time Crowley had shown him an outfit he’d made for himself to make Aziraphale smile. And the way he’d meticulously remove those outfits, tracing every piece of pale skin as he found it.

“I miss you,” he held Crowley’s pillow tightly. It wasn’t enough, how could it be? But it was something to cling to. “Crowley, I’m so sorry. I never should have left your side,” he whispered to no one that could hear him. Sometimes he fell asleep there and dreamed. The dreams were always wonderful, which made the waking all the worse. Sometimes he could see Crowley there as if he’d never left and the sleepy morning grin as he’d reach out to ruffle Aziraphale’s hair.

* * *

“Today’s the day!” Elva sang out as she danced across the courtyard. She fell into one of the guard’s startled arms. “It’s Spring Ball! What treats do you have for us?” The guard dropped her, but instead of falling she twisted and caught herself, straightening with a wide grin on her face. 

“There’s nothing for you,” the guard retorted.

Elva put her hands on her hips. “We always get something special on holidays.”

Crowley took her by the arm, waving apologetically to the guard. “You are overexcited.” She giggled haphazardly as he led her to the breakfast table. This was all part of the plan, catch the guards and help them feel at ease. Elva played the part well.

Still, her attitude was infectious. If the plan worked, they’d be out of here by tonight. Maybe he’d see Aziraphale. He tried to convince himself that was unrealistic and to keep his expectations reasonable. Still, the thought of pulling Aziraphale into his arms was tantalizing.

They waited anxiously through the day, each of them distracting the other so they wouldn’t look suspiciously at the guards. Yet Crowley noticed he was right, as the day wore on there were fewer guards about. Anyone who could get the day off had and the ones left were discontented and many snuck drinks on the side. If there was a night for their escape, it was tonight.

An hour after sunset one of the guards slept at his post and Elva and Crowley crawled through the tunnel they’d spent the last few weeks constructing. On the other side, they slipped on the guard uniforms. Elva helped Crowley wrap up his distinctive red hair under his hood so it’d be less noticeable. Then together, they walked toward the gate each doing their best to act relaxed and unhurried.

Crowley didn’t breathe well until they were out of sight of the prison.

“We did it,” Elva marveled as she pulled the uniform jacket off, throwing it into the neighboring woods. “How long do you think it’ll be until they notice we’re gone?”

“Morning roll call, at the latest.”

The path to town was long and winding, but the pair jogged it. They arrived to find a festive atmosphere and Crowley wrapped his hood up, trying to hide better behind it.

Elva separated from him, and when an old man peered at him she tried to draw his attention to herself. “Kind sir, are the celebrations tonight for the Spring Ball I've heard of?” she asked as if she were nothing more than a traveler passing through.

“Ay. And the Prince’s wedding. Aziraphale finally married off. Most of us thought it’d never happen.”

Crowley froze. Everything in him turned to ice. Was he too late? By a single day? They could have broken out the day before, they could have—

Elva thanked the man and grabbed his arm, pulling him down another street and into a side alley. “Get it together,” she hissed. “You’re no good to him falling apart. What do we do?”

“Well, we certainly don’t sneak into his rooms tonight that much I know,” Crowley blurted out.

Elva glanced around, worried. “We’ve no money, nor ability to stay here long.”

He needed to think. They needed time. “I’ve got money. It’s just in the shop.”

“You can’t be seen there.”

Crowley chuckled. “No, but you can.” He grabbed a stick laying on the dirt ground and quickly drew a map. He explained to her how to trip the lock at the back door.

“Is there anything you’d like me to bring, for you?”

“Clothes, maybe. Something nondescript, so I can get out of this outfit. There should be a few items that fit you in the front area where I keep pieces for customers if you’d like.” He considered. “There’s a sword and a pair of knives. In the chest in the bedroom. Aziraphale insisted, just in case…”

With that, Elva was off. Crowley sank down into a crouch in the alleyway to wait. He closed his eyes and imagined Aziraphale’s face. It didn’t matter what they had forced on his prince, Aziraphale wanted him. A few weeks' time wouldn’t change that, he didn’t think anything ever would. Crowley tried to consider what Gabriel had done, and how to get past it to get his arms around the being he loved.

* * *

This was all wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be wedding Azalea, as kind as she was. Aziraphale sat at his dressing table as assistants chattered over him. He had been dressed in midnight blue, adorned with jewelry and the crown he never enjoyed. The wild curls that Crowley loved had been straightened as much as they could.

Another set of attendants worked on Azalea beside him in a stunning gold that set off the highlights in her red hair. She gripped the hand mirror rigidly, her face tight.

The attendants all left and Aziraphale felt the tears trickle down his cheeks.

Azalea wrapped him in a hug he could not turn down. The two were locked in this misery together, both longing for someone else and yet knowing the other understood them. “I know, it should be him,” she whispered.

A strangled sob escaped him at that admission. “And her. Thank you, my dear.” His friend kissed the top of his head and he leaned into her embrace.

Gabriel chose that moment to sweep into the room. Aziraphale supposed he looked beautiful and glamorous, but he could feel nothing for this so-called brother.  “Cut that out,” his elder brother ordered sternly as he pulled Azalea away from him, pushing her back. “Must you always disgrace us?”

None of this farce of a night mattered. The next day would continue as they all had in the after Crowley time. Aziraphale ignored the prattling of his brother though he reached for Lea, letting her know she was not alone.

The next moment he was grabbed roughly by the shoulder. Gabriel twisted him to smack him across the face. “I said to stop! You are a prince, act like one.”

Azalea was between them in an instant, pushing the taller man back and brandishing a knife that Aziraphale had never seen before. “You will not lay a hand on him,” she snarled.

The shock of the moment caused Gabriel to take a step back while Lea pushed forward, pressing her advantage and keeping the knife firmly at his neck. Aziraphale rose to helplessly guard her back.

“Look here sunshine—”

“No,” she snapped. “I have spent weeks in your company, your highness. You have betrayed your brother time and again and left him to wither. You will not come in here, on one of his worst nights, to tell him he cannot feel. We will do what you order, for we must. We are prisoners here as sure as those you’ve locked in chains. But you will not come into my space and insult the person you intend to be my partner. That I will not allow. If you have a problem with that, perhaps you should have chosen a different suitor for your brother. Like a particular tailor.”

Gabriel reeled in shock. Aziraphale gaped at the princess, unable to respond. While her speech may have been true, he never expected this. His brother stared between the two for a moment, then without a word spun and hurried from the room. Lea sagged and Aziraphale caught her.

“You didn’t need to do that. Thank you.”

“Oh, I think I did. For better or worse, here we are. But we should make our appearances, are you ready?”

Aziraphale quickly wiped his face, then took her arm and led her through the door. The least he could do for this friend of his was keep himself together this evening.

They walked into the Great Hall, Lea’s hand resting on his arm. Everyone fell quiet as they approached the judge, official papers already prepared and waiting.

Crowley had marveled at their names next to each other. It should be him. It should be— Lea placed the pen in his hand and gave it a soft squeeze. She understood, and that was more than he could have hoped for. Without reading it or looking at the names, he signed in a hurry and closed his eyes. When she tapped his arm lightly, he opened them again and they proceeded through the Great Hall for their first dance.

* * *

Elva returned, her face tight and anxious. A supply bag was slung over her shoulder. “There was some fresh food there, someone’s been there. So I grabbed it, too. Don’t know if I just robbed the place—”

Of course, someone else had moved in. “If you did, they got more than the price of a little food out of the bargain.” 

Guilt married Elva’s face but she nodded and held out the money pouch to Crowley.

“There’s an inn not far from the castle… we can go there. You should probably rent the room, ask for one that overlooks the street.”

In less than an hour, they were settled in a room together. Elva made two sleeping pallets as Crowley sat in the window overlooking the castle.

“Did you go there often?”

“Nah, they didn’t like me much. How I got here to begin with.”

She stretched and joined him in the small window seat watching the lights in the distance. “We should sleep.”

“You go ahead. I’m going to stay here for a bit.”

Elva settled in and though she tossed and turned, the lights were just starting to wink out at the castle when she finally quieted. Party go-ers had left in droves, but now it was barely a trickle. Crowley watched each of them in turn. One had startling blond hair, not unlike— but it couldn’t be him. The man was far too skinny and wearing dark blues. Aziraphale hated his family’s color.

It took everything in him not to run out into the still somewhat crowded street as he watched what his heart knew must be Aziraphale enter the royal cemetery. The person didn’t approach any of the large markers, but instead knelt by a small one at the side, resting his hand on it for a moment. Crowley thought he may have left something behind.

Fuck the danger. He was down the stairs and out the door, hurrying over before he could stop himself. But by the time he got there, whoever it had been was gone.

Crowley knelt by the grave marker. He could read if he tried, and it was short. He sounded the word out slowly. “Beloved.” On the gravestone was a single embroidered fabric, a black rose. He turned it over in his hand, recognizing the light blue he’d used for their Spring Ball outfits. With a start, Crowley realized he hadn’t seen the other pieces of fabric in the dark but the grave was littered with them. All roses in varying colors. As he picked them up one by one, he recognized the fabrics. The spare silk for the countess’ dress. The suede for that waistcoat he’d made for his neighbor in an exchange. Aziraphale was grieving and what did it—

The reason slammed into him like a stallion and he fell back to the ground. The reason his prince had never come for him, the only reason Aziraphale wouldn’t have come. He thought Crowley was dead.

The tailor wandered from the cemetery, not even considering where he was going in the dark night. His traitorous feet carried him to his shop where the lights were on. He wondered who had moved in. Had Aziraphale taken the basket of scraps as a memento? What other souvenirs did he have?

It was the epitome of foolishness. The new owners would call the guards, or at the very least could identify him to Gabriel and his goons. Still, he tried the door and it was unlocked and he could not resist the urge to push it open and step into his shop.

The room was empty save for one person.

Aziraphale, eyes red-rimmed and face tear stricken stared up at him.

Chapter Text

The wedding was complete. It would never be consummated, both he and Lea knew that. They retired to their rooms early, as was the custom. All he could do was pace and try to staunch the overwhelming feelings.

“Go to the shop,” Lea finally suggested.

“I can’t, I’m expected—”

She rested a calming hand on his arm. “None of them will dare interrupt us, and I’ll make whatever excuses I must. I’m not the comfort you need tonight.”

And so he had snuck out the back and down the path, lost in the revelers. He made one stop at the cemetery to leave his latest rose. They were getting better, he knew. Still, he’d ordered the flowers for the grave.

He hurried away, knowing his presence there could be noticed. No one went to a cemetery on the night of the Spring Ball. It only took him minutes to slip into the familiar shop. It was the only place he felt he could find breath anymore, even if it did him no good.

All the pent-up frustrations of the night poured from him as he curled up on the sofa. He’d need to be back by morning, that much he knew, but for now, he could grieve what the night should have been. The gown stared at him from across the room accusingly. His fault. His beloved was gone and it was his own doing.

The bell over the door tinkled and Aziraphale wondered who would dare to enter the shop this late at night. “I’m sorry, we’re quite closed.”

The person stepped into the firelight. Crowley. It couldn’t be. He had seen his body. “Are you a ghost? Or here to take me to the other side? I wouldn’t mind, not if it’s you.”

The apparition took a step forward, hesitant. “Aziraphale, what—”

“If this is a hallucination, it’s an awful good one. I’ll have to thank my mind for that, later. Once you’ve disappeared. For now, I’d like to stare at you, if that’s alright. I have missed him so.”

The thing that surely was not Crowley knelt in front of him. With the utmost gentleness, it reached out and took his hand, bringing it to its own chest. “Do you feel that? My heartbeat. It’s real. I’m real.”

Aziraphale shook. If he let himself fall down this rabbit hole, he may never return. There was no loss for him, but Lea had been so kind. He owed it to her, really, to try to keep his sanity.

“Your brother came. He put something in my drink. When I woke up I was in the royal prison, and forgive me, my prince, but it took me a while to get back to you. I should have been faster—I… I heard about the wedding. I shouldn’t have let them…”

“You are dead,” Aziraphale tried one more time. He really couldn’t let this continue on.

Crowley’s golden eyes peered into his own, beseechingly. “Tell me you’re done with me. That you’ve found love with another. Tell me that your brother told you the truth and you no longer want a simple tailor. All of that, I would accept. It would shatter my heart, but I’ve always known you deserved better. But I am here, Aziraphale. I have fought so hard to get back to you and if you want me I will never leave your side again.”

Aziraphale fell to his knees, finally giving in. If this was a dream or the afterlife or anything of the sort, he didn’t care. It was his Crowley and that was all that had ever mattered. As he had, so many thousands of times before he rested his hand on Crowley’s cheek and leaned in to kiss his lover’s soft lips.

* * *

Crowley was more terrified than he had ever been. He had expected to fight Gabriel or the palace guards. Part of him had been terrified that Aziraphale had turned his back on him for some unknown reason. 

Yet this broken person in front of him scared him more than any other scenario he had ever imagined. This wasn’t Aziraphale. He wasn’t sure what was inhabiting the prince’s body, but it felt as if every piece of who he was had been burned away.

As the kiss broke he reached up to rest his hands on Aziraphale’s wrists begging silently. Their eyes met, and finally, he saw the slightest spark there.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale warbled.

“Yes, it’s me. It’s really me, I promise.” He nuzzled his face into Aziraphale’s palm. “Come back to me, please.”

Chapter Text

“Yes, it’s me. It’s really me, I promise.” He nuzzled his face into Aziraphale’s palm. “Come back to me, please.”

Whatever walls had held Aziraphale back crashed down around them. He threw himself forward, knocking them both back to the floor. Crowley wrapped his arms around him tightly as Aziraphale’s hands touched every piece of him, convincing himself that the redhead was there in his arms.

“You’re not dead,” he laughed through the tears. “You’re—oh, Crowley.”

The kisses the prince lavished over him were desperate and messy. At first, Crowley thought it was only Aziraphale who was crying but then realized he was as well. Joy, pain, and relief all mixed together as the pair held each other. Crowley didn’t try to talk, not yet. There’d be time enough later to worry about words and how to handle their situation. This moment was for relishing being in each other’s presence again.

Aziraphale sat up and rested a hand on the front of Crowley’s tunic. “I need to feel you. Everywhere. Please?”

“Anything you want. Except…”

“Except?” Fear echoed in that word.

“Can we go to the bedroom? The floor it’s… well neither of us is as young as we used to be.”

The prince snickered as he stood, pulling Crowley to his feet and in for another hungry kiss. Crowley pulled back just long enough to slide the lock on the door into place before Aziraphale dragged him into their bedroom. As they entered his prince paused a moment, his hand tightening around Crowley’s as he stared at the bed.

“Aziraphale? Are you sure? We don’t need to—”

Another kiss stopped any words. He’d follow Aziraphale’s lead. Loving him had never been wrong, and he wasn’t going to stop now. His prince pulled the tunic off over Crowley’s head, then quickly worked on his shirt and breeches. Every piece of skin that was uncovered was touched or kissed. “You’re so warm,” Aziraphale whispered at one point.

Crowley did not so much remove as cast the midnight blue doublet to the ground with a huff. “Why are you in that.”

Aziraphale paused, his hand shaking. “Gabriel, but later?”

“Later,” Crowley agreed easily as he returned the favor, carefully disrobing Aziraphale as the blond watched his every movement. “What do you need from me tonight?” 

“To know you’re real,” Aziraphale admitted in a terrified whisper. “To feel you, everywhere.”

What had they done to him? Crowley would put him back together, piece by piece. Using his own soul as glue to hold this love of his together if he must. “Going to be a long night.”

Aziraphale laid back on the bed as Crowley climbed over him, reaching out to stroke his cock slowly as he kissed his collarbone. “I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep again. I’d be too afraid of waking up. What if this is all a dream?”

The small jar of oil sat undisturbed where it had been on Crowley’s nightstand. He used it to work himself open while his other hand still stroked Aziraphale. He worked quickly and felt the stretch when he straddled Aziraphale and slid down on his cock but he had no complaints about how filled he was.

As he settled, he took Aziraphale’s hands and placed them on his chest. “Heartbeat. Right there, you feel it still? It’s racing, because of you.” He lifted himself and sank back down onto Aziraphale’s cock. “Do you feel me? Am I real enough?” 

“You are,” Aziraphale gasped, “so good to me. Always so good.” His hands slid to Crowley’s side, then down to his hips where his fingers dug in, urging the redhead to move. “More, please, more.”

* * *

Aziraphale stared up at Crowley, for he was finally allowing himself to believe it was truly him. No daydream could feel this heavenly. He was solid under Aziraphale’s hands and his body, oh. Whenever Crowley took him in, it always felt better than anything Aziraphale deserved.

His body arched from the bed and Crowley leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Let go, I’m here. You can let go.”

Crowley knew him. He came with a shout and something of all the pain and fear of the last six weeks loosed in him as Crowley held him in every way he could. As Aziraphale’s grip loosened, Crowley slid off of him, laying down next to him.

The last time they’d laid in this bed… No, he wouldn’t allow himself to think of that. In the morning he would risk unraveling this miracle by asking the hows and whys but for right now Crowley was so warm as he reached out to brush the red hair out of his face. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Crowley caught his hand to kiss it.

Aziraphale pulled his hand back to run it down Crowley’s side. “Let me take care of you…”

“Soon. Not yet.” Though the tailor whined as Aziraphale’s hand found his cock. “Wait, please. I want to—want to make you as blissful as I can. You don’t understand how… hurt you looked. Let me erase any doubt from your mind, please if I can.”

Despite himself, Aziraphale’s cock twitched at the idea. Crowley smirked pleased with himself as he reached again for the jar of oil once more.

“You deserve some attention,” Aziraphale protested one more time.

As Crowley slid a finger into him he promised, “and I will have it. Soon enough.”

Fuck. Had it only been six weeks? It felt as if it were lifetimes. How could he have, in that amount of time, forgotten what Crowley’s clever fingers felt like? His tailor took his time, mindful of Aziraphale needing a chance to recover. His movements were gentle, but sure inside of Aziraphale and the prince could do nothing except fall apart under his attention.

Crowley pressed against him, kissing his neck, his cheeks, his lips. Whispering how much he adored him.

Aziraphale didn’t deserve any of it. If he’d only known. He shouldn’t have given up. Crowley had been alive this whole time and he’d—he couldn’t think not with three of Crowley’s fingers now filling him making him writhe. His cock leaked between them. “More,” he begged.

With another kiss, Crowley started to move his fingers more earnestly. He wrapped a leg around Aziraphale as he lay next to him, grinding his own cock against the prince’s thigh.

“Can I have you?” Aziraphale managed to gasp out. It was almost too much, too soon.

Crowley slipped behind him, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s chest, holding him tightly. He arched into the touch, wanting to be as close to Crowley as he could. The redhead moved achingly slow.

With a huff, Aziraphale shoved back on him.

“Alright,” Crowley breathed picking up pace.

It was all too much. Crowley was here and loved him and Aziraphale spilled with a cry and then felt his tailor come in him, filling him. He shook in Crowley’s arms, sob wracking him. The redhead slid from him, quickly shifting so that he faced Aziraphale, his hands cupping his face. “It’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you now, and I’m not leaving. Let it out, Aziraphale. Let it all out.”

So he did as he clung to Crowley and when he was spent in every way he could be, he fell into a sleep that he could not fight in his lover’s arms. Somehow, everything finally felt as if it were back in its rightful place in the world. The weight that had crushed him was gone. For the first time in six weeks, he didn’t have a nightmare.

* * *

Crowley fell asleep after Aziraphale did. Still, he wrapped himself around Aziraphale. A leg was thrown over his thighs, an arm under his head, and Crowley as tight as he could be against the prince’s body. Aziraphale was terrified he wouldn’t be there, and Crowley was determined to take that fear away.

* * *

When Aziraphale cracked open his eyes, the sun peeked into the room. Crowley curled against him and for a moment he worried it was all a dream. But the being against him was warm and heavy. His chest rose and fell as he dozed, the locket moving in time with it.

“Oh my love,” he whispered as he kissed the red hair taking in Crowley’s scent. Perhaps it was that that finally convinced him that it couldn’t be a ghost he held, ghosts don’t smell, do they? And he allowed his heart the joy of Crowley not only being alive but being here in his arms where they both belonged.

Crowley stirred and looked up at him. “Morning,” he smiled as he kissed Aziraphale’s nose.

It wasn’t a dream. Crowley was here. He was alive and well in their own bed. Yet Aziraphale knew as the morning sun crept in that the danger wasn’t over. “I have missed you. I wish we had more time but… someone will come to find us soon. Where have you been? What happened? Crowley, you were dead .” His hand strayed back to Crowley’s chest as if reassuring himself the redhead’s heart still beat.

“S’alright. I’m here. Really.”

“How?”

“Your brother came to see me. Put something in my tea, I don’t know what. When I woke up, I was in the royal prison.” He sighed, “thought you were going to come at first. Then when a couple of days passed, I realized something had to be wrong.”

Aziraphale glowered. “I would have torn the castle apart brick by brick to get to you if I’d known. I am so sorry I kept you waiting.”

Crowley grabbed his hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each of his fingers one at a time. “I know. That’s why I was worried. Had a friend, you’ll like her. She helped me escape. We came here, rented a room. I was trying to sort out how to get to you when I saw you in the cemetery…”

“At your grave.” For a moment, the terror washed over Aziraphale again. Crowley was gone, he’d lost him. It was his fault. Crowley—

“Aziraphale, come back to me.” And he tried. Crowley swam before him, becoming more solid. The tailor’s hands were on his shoulders. “Please,” Crowley begged.

Leaving Crowley waiting was not an option. Aziraphale took a steadying breath. “I’m sorry.” He winced at the weakness in his own voice.

“I can tell you the details later, but they’re not important,” Crowley muttered. “What happened here? Why were you in the shop, anyway? I mean, I’m not complaining, sure made my night considerably better.”

The prince chuckled at his tone and watched the answering relief on Crowley’s face. He could do this, for both of them. “After he… I got here and you were laying in the bed. You weren’t breathing and you were cold. We… we buried you, Crowley. I wonder who we buried. Regardless, I couldn’t go on. I didn’t want to, you weren’t—and it was my fault—”

“Wasn’t. Not at all.”

“That’s what the princess said.”

“The one you wed last night?” Try as he might, Crowley couldn’t keep the pain from his voice.

Aziraphale reached up to tilt Crowley’s chin up, kissing him deeply before he answered. “Yes, the one that I signed a legal document with last night. She is a friend, and I think you’ll like her. But she doesn’t own my heart, that has always been yours and it always will be. I would have never signed those papers had I known you lived. And I will never spend a night with her while you hold the pieces of my very soul.”

Tears traced their way down Crowley’s cheeks and Aziraphale kissed them away.

“The princess kept me alive. She found me on your grave the first night, if she hadn’t I probably would have frozen there. I certainly had nothing left worth fighting for. I don’t want you to hate her, my love. Any mistakes are my own.”

“S’not her it’s… Aziraphale it’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? I’m never going to be what is expected for you. They’re always going to try to separate us. What if they come for us again, what if they hurt you—”

Aziraphale placed a finger over his lips, stopping the litany of fears. “I should have left with you when you asked me to all those weeks ago. I will now. They will leave us alone because no one will look askance at a traveling scribe and tailor.”

“You are a prince,” Crowley protested softly.

“My love I have spent the last six weeks being Prince Aziraphale without you. I cannot tell you how much I detest it. The only title I would like is that of your partner, in whatever form that takes.”

Crowley rolled over on top of Aziraphale, laying on top of him to kiss him. The prince ran tantalizing hands down his sides before settling into holding him.

“We can’t stay here,” Crowley finally murmured as he rested his head on Aziraphale’s chest.

“No, we can’t. They’ll come looking for us here, your absence must have been noted and someone will have told Gabriel. And I need to get Lea from the castle before we can be on our way.”

Crowley stiffened in his arms, pulling back his eyes wide. “Lea. Short for Azalea?”

Aziraphale hummed an assent. “Lea to her friends, of which I am sure you’ll be one.”

“Fuck, fuck.” Crowley jumped from the bed. At the fear on Aziraphale’s face, he reached back took his hand, and sat on the edge of the bed. “Sorry! Aziraphale, did Lea mention anyone?”

“Yes… a hunter she loved. Why?”

Crowley threw his head back and laughed. Aziraphale waited, not sure what absurdity had taken over him. Finally, he calmed enough. “Get dressed, we’ll talk as we walk but… there are more wrongs than just ours we need to right. And we need to move.” He grabbed a towel and wetted it from the bedroom cistern before passing it to Aziraphale.

By the time the prince was suitably cleaned, Crowley had pulled outfits from the dresser for them both. A simple black breeches and shirt for himself and for Aziraphale a beige doublet with slightly darker breeches. As Aziraphale dressed, Crowley carefully tucked his distinctive red hair into a hood.

The tailor leaned in to kiss him softly as they hurried from the room, reaching out to interlock their hands. “I’m not letting go, I hope you know that,” Crowley promised with mock solemnity as he pulled the prince toward the door.

“Wait, we can’t go to the castle. You can’t be seen! What are we doing?”

Crowley spun and pulled him in close. “I’m sorry, I’m going too fast. But I’ll explain it once we get to the room we rented. You’ll see, you’ll understand.”

Confusion tore through Aziraphale. The room was nearly spinning everything was happening so quickly. “Who is we?”

“Lea’s hunter. Her name is Elva.”

Shock stopped him in his tracks and then he felt the answering grin on his face. No matter what the day would bring, they would be together. Aziraphale allowed himself to be pulled through the streets, giddy as a child.

Chapter Text

Elva hurried them into the room, her expression concerned. “Who’s he?”

“Who do you think he is?” Crowley laughed.

“How in the name of seven dragons did you get him here? ”

Crowley could see the want for proper manners warring with the sheer joy of his presence on Aziraphale’s face, so he decided to take mercy. “Elva, hunter and friend please meet Prince Aziraphale. My prince, this is Elva.”

She peered a bit sourly at the pair, clearly annoyed at having been left out of whatever escapades had occurred. “Is he yours if he’s wed, though?” Remorse flit across her face. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—I was just annoyed. Of course, he is.”

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s hand before he let it go to take Elva’s. “My dear, I believe I may have heard of you before. You see, the princess I wed last night was Azalea, or as she asked me to name her, Lea. She was always careful not to mention your name but if what Crowley has told me is true—”

A knife Crowley recognized was pressed against Aziraphale’s throat. Elva hissed, “you mean to tell me you wed my princess against her will?”

Crowley stepped forward, his hands raised but Aziraphale held up a steadying hand. “I rather think it was against both of our wills.” He stood his ground unflinchingly. “The one who made the decision, she held a dagger to his throat with the same exact grip you’re using now. I suppose I have you to thank for teaching her how to defend me?”

The knife at Aziraphale’s throat wavered and Crowley saw the opportunity to push Elva’s hand up and away from his prince. “Do you remember that conversation we had about my prince ?”

“What if he—”

“He would not, ever,” Crowley said flatly. “We hurried over here in part because of his anxiousness to rescue Lea from the castle. We need to plan, if you can relax for five minutes.”

She huffed and shot a glare at Aziraphale, but retreated to the window where she could overlook the castle.

“That’s better,” Crowley breathed out. “Now, the three of us will—”

“Two,” Aziraphale interrupted.

Crowley whirled to face him. “There are three of us, we’re not leaving Elva—”

“No, we’re not,” Aziraphale said softly as he once more took Crowley’s hand. “You need to wait here.”

Crowley paled and wobbled on his feet. “No.”

“You know it’s the best answer. Gabriel will be on the look out for you, but I doubt he even knows Elva exists. We can get in and find Lea. I’ll grab a few choice items that can help us on our journey. And then I’ll be back here, in your arms. I promise. He won’t know you’re here as long as you stay here. Safe for me.”

“He’s right,” Elva said from the window seat. She unwound herself and approached the pair. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I was just…”

“Shocked and worried. It’s alright, my dear. There’s no harm done. Crowley and Lea both seem to like you well enough.”

“I’m debating that,” Crowley grumbled.

“Be kind to her,” Aziraphale chided him. “You know that I am safe and here. She only wants the same for the one she loves, don’t you?”

Elva nodded and Crowley forced some of the tension from his shoulders. “So I’m just going to pace and wait here? Really?”

“I’ll keep him safe,” Elva promised.

“Oh yeah, that’s real believable,” Crowley groaned and Elva sulked.

Aziraphale picked up the sword that lay across the bed, stretching his arm slightly as he tested the weight. “ I will take care of myself. Surely you know you can trust that. And her, too.” He took the sheath and belt and attached the sword at his hip. “We’ll be fine. I’ll get them out and come back to you.” He pulled Crowley in, kissing him. “But the sooner we go, the better. The less time they’ll have to prepare.” With a second thought, he grabbed a dagger as well.

Crowley was terrified, but he whispered, “I’ll wait for you. Go.”

As Elva and Aziraphale disappeared out the door, he sat in the window watching the pathway to the castle and he hoped.

* * *

Elva walked next to but half a step behind Aziraphale, the proper place for a servant. He felt both horrid for it and some reassurance in her actions, perhaps she’d be able to pull off this charade with him and get Lea out easily.

“Do you know how to use that sword?” Elva asked.

“I’ve trained on weapons since I was a child,” he replied stiffly.

Elva waved her hand dramatically as if brandishing her own blade. “That doesn’t answer the question. I need to know how much I’ll need to take care of you if there’s a situation.”

As much as Aziraphale wanted to laugh at that, he knew it would be the wrong move. It was fair, in a way, for Elva to test him. She knew nothing of him. “I can take care of myself, I assure you. I am trusting you to do the same as Lea speaks highly of you, but I do need you to be cautious as we move through the castle. I am… patient, but I will not tolerate anything that could potentially endanger Crowley.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Only if it needs to be.” The pair fell quiet as they approached the castle guards, who waved him through without hesitation. One looked curiously at the woman with him. Once they were out of earshot, Aziraphale continued where they’d left off. “You’re young and in love and headstrong. None of those are bad things. But we need subterfuge on our side for the next few hours. I need you to be a demure assistant for my princess, can you do that?”

“She’s not yours,” Elva bit out.

“Until we are safely away, with every fiber in you I need you to act as if she is. For her sake if no one else’s. This is dangerous . They tried to trick me into thinking Crowley was dead, do you not think that fate could await any of us if we’re not careful?”

“I understand.”

Aziraphale glanced at her, deciding that she at least thought she was being truthful. “Excellent. We’ll be at the castle soon, when we there you let me take the lead. Do not talk unless you must. Behave demurely. Stay behind me. You are not a hunter here, you are a lady’s assistant as Princess Azalea wishes for a personal handmaiden, can you do that?”

She crinkled her nose in distaste. “For her, yes.”

With that, Aziraphale quickened his pace. The faster this was over, the sooner he’d be back to Crowley and away from here forever. Elva lowered her head and stayed with him. He hoped that would be enough for them to make it through the halls unchallenged.

It was too much to hope for. Bim, the captain of the King’s guard, stood at the entrance his arms crossed barring the way. “I’m to bring you to the king.”

“I’d be happy to see my brother after I’ve freshened up. Surely he can wait that long?” Aziraphale said lightly, stepping forward.

Bim’s arm shot out blocking his way. “Wasn’t my instructions. He said to bring you in as soon as you arrived.”

“I shall be by as soon as I show this handmaiden to my lady’s rooms,” Aziraphale smiled disarmingly.

He should have known it wouldn’t work. Bim’s hand fell to his sword. “Now, Prince Aziraphale.”

Elva drew her dagger, jumping between Aziraphale and Bim. “Leave him alone,” she growled.

Aziraphale took a steadying breath. “Elva, please, I can handle this.”

It was too much of an excuse for Bim who drew his own sword with a grin. “Want to play?”

The fight was over quickly, Elva was thrown into the wall. Only then did Aziraphale step forward his own sword drawn. “Bim, I don’t want to do this. I will be back as soon as I’ve delivered this handmaiden to my lady.”

Bim didn’t answer and instead charged. Aziraphale met his challenge, catching the blade and twisting so that for a moment he was behind the captain. It was long enough for him to bring the hilt of his sword down on the man’s head so that he collapsed to the ground.

“Are you alright?” he asked Elva.

“Y-yeah.”

“I told you to let me handle it,” he grumbled. “Quickly, help me move him into the guard closet there, he should be out for at least a short while.”

After the two tumbled the unconscious guard into the shack Elva muttered out a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale led the way quickly through the halls. “I know what it’s like to be young and in love, but please trust me when I tell you I can handle something. Crowley does, after all.” As he rounded the last corner he relaxed, “Here we are.”

With a small flourish, Aziraphale pushed the door over, gesturing Elva to proceed him. He followed her in, shutting the door behind him. Lea took a deep breath before she turned in her chair, and Aziraphale watched her eyes go wide. Elva didn’t move as Lea stood and crossed the room to her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back from the hunt I made a mistake, I—”

“I don’t care, whatever it is. You’re here.” Lea threw her arms around Elva pulling her close and kissing her.

Aziraphale averted his gaze, trying to give them a moment with as much privacy as he could offer in the small room. In the meantime, he grabbed a bag and started to quickly pack. Crowley’s blanket was the first thing he stashed in the bottom. On top, he added the extra gold he kept in his room and the contents of his jewelry bin. Wherever they were going, they’d have enough to live off of for quite awhile.

Chapter Text

Lea and Elva whispered to each other excitedly and Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt, but is there anything you’d like to take with us? And anything of value?”

“What do you mean?” Lea asked. “And how did this come about?” She stepped towards Aziraphale though she kept Elva’s hand held tightly in her own. “Aziraphale, your eyes. I’ve never seen you so vibrant. It’s like I knew a shadow and now I’ve found you .”

“He’s alive,” Aziraphale breathed out, still holding that truth inside himself for the treasure it was. “Crowley is alive and he’s waiting for us. He brought Elva with him, but we need to go. Before they realize what’s going on. All of us, we’ll make a fresh start elsewhere.”

Lea glanced at Aziraphale and then at Elva still holding her hand. For a moment she was indecisive then she rushed to grab her own small handbag. She pecked Elva on the cheek quickly before hurriedly apologizing, “I’m sorry, we’ll need to make this believable.” With that, she took Aziraphale’s arm and straightened her posture, reaching forward to open the door.

Aziraphale laid his hand on hers as he led the way, Elva protecting their backs. None of them bothered to lock the door, there was nothing they cared to come back to.

They almost made it out.

Gabriel stood at the entry to the great hall, clearly looking for Bim or Aziraphale, his face annoyed. “Aziraphale, a word.”

There was no one with Gabriel, and it would take him precious moments to call any guards. Not to mention the public embarrassment of dragging Aziraphale back. “Later, Gabriel. I am taking my new partner out for a picnic, you understand. Time together is so important.”

Gabriel sputtered, but Aziraphale did not break stride and the women followed his lead as he strode to the entry door and towards the castle gates. He didn’t breathe well until he was through the gates, convinced if Gabriel were going to send someone to chase them down immediately they would have arrived.

“Crowley should be able to see us by now,” Aziraphale beamed.

* * *

Crowley wanted to pace, but that would have taken him too far from the seat at the window. He settled for hugging his knees and watching the street anxiously. At one point he tried counting the number of horses that passed by, realizing they probably should get at least one to carry supplies.

That was something he could do. He started making a mental list as he sat in the window of what they would need. Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to take much from the castle besides gold, but the tailor shop had more supplies. Food and water skins. He would grab his traveling sewing case in case they needed it. The wool he had in his stores wasn’t as good as animal skins, but it would do for sleeping mats and blankets, they probably wouldn’t have enough time to get to the next town by sundown, particularly since they should probably stay off the main road.

Aziraphale’s distinctive blond curls were the first detail he spotted and he realized Lea must be the woman on his arm. Her hair was almost as red as Crowley’s, and he added a hood to his list of supplies. Really, it was cold enough that it wouldn’t be a bad idea for them all to have one. And he had some spare jackets in the back as well.

Crowley didn’t take his eyes from them as they made their way down the street until they were at the door to the inn. At that point, he jumped from his seat to throw the door to their room open. When Aziraphale came into view, Crowley didn’t hesitate, throwing himself in his arms. The woman next to Aziraphale chuckled at the display as Crowley kissed his prince soundly.

“We weren’t gone long,” Aziraphale said bemusedly, but he didn’t relinquish his hold on Crowley as he all but carried him into the room. “May I introduce you to Lea?”

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” Lea held out a hand that Crowley took. “But I do think we need to continue on our way, now that we’re all together?”

“I’ve got a plan,” Crowley said and hurriedly explained.

* * *

The women hurried off to purchase a mule that could carry their supplies while Aziraphale and Crowley packed what they could use from the tailor shop. Instead of stopping for a quick lunch in the shop, they opted to start their trek. None of them wanted to be found, so they had a shared lunch of pieces of bread and fruit as they walked down a side path that would lead them well away from the city and the castle.

Though they all knew that they should be worried, the journey was joyous. They took turns teaching each other songs and telling stories. By the time they stopped to make camp just before sunset, all of their faces hurt from smiling.

The girls made an excuse of searching for some berries, though it was far too early in the season for them. They ducked into the wood hand in hand and Crowley turned his attention to Aziraphale, climbing onto his lap.

“Do you think we’ll make it?” the redhead asked worriedly.

Aziraphale rested a hand on Crowley’s cheek, lovingly brushing a thumb over his cheekbone. “I think that they will leave us alone if they know what’s best for them. I am yours, and would fight all the powers of the kingdom to keep you safe with me .” He could not go back, would not go back to living in a world without Crowley in it. Aziraphale knew what he wanted, and it was all here in his arms.

Crowley tilted his head, resting their foreheads together as the darkness grew. Aziraphale’s hands traced up his sides tantalizingly slow and gentle. Crowley took his time, running his hands through soft curls, a sigh of contentment escaping him.

Suddenly, Crowley was pulled from his grip.

“Let me go! What are you—” the slap was loud that silenced Crowley was loud and clear as Aziraphale jumped to his feet. Two, no three. Three guards held Crowley, but it had been his brother that had struck him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Gabriel snapped.

Aziraphale dove for his sword that lay mere feet away. Though one of the guards dashed forward, he was able to scoop it up and twist into a defensive stance.

“Let him go,” Aziraphale growled.

“I think not. Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to tell me where your partner is and we’re going to take the pair of you back to the castle where you belong. If you are very good, I’ll not put this one to death for treason and simply throw him back into the prison where he belongs. This is your one chance to keep him alive, do you understand?”

“Don’t—” A hand clamped down on Crowley’s mouth before he could finish his sentence. He fought against the guard holding him, but his lover had always been slight and fast. He wasn’t made for this.

The thought of losing Crowley again nearly broke him. Yet he understood the pleading in Crowley’s eyes. What good was a life if they weren’t together?

“I am going to politely ask you one more time to let go of my beloved,” Aziraphale repeated calmly. “Then I am going to make you unhand him.”

Chapter Text

Two of the guards advanced on Aziraphale, blades drawn. Gabriel shouted, “take him alive!” and the hand across Crowley’s mouth twitched. He took his chance and bit down hard, twisting away at the same time from the startled guard.

Gabriel huffed in annoyance and waved the guard towards Aziraphale. “Take care of him. I can handle this problem.” And with that, he drew his blade and advanced.

Crowley’s daggers were on their pack, over next to where Aziraphale was currently twirling and dancing as he fought for both of them. There were no other swords. He grabbed a stick from the ground just in time to use it to block Gabriel’s first blow and then the memory of Elva’s voice echoed in his head. He was fast and he’d need to use it. At the very least, he could draw him away from Aziraphale. He stole another glance at his prince, who was holding his own against the three guards.

As the King lunged for him again, Crowley ducked behind a tree, whacking Gabriel with his stick as he spun around it trying to give chase. The tailor dashed from the tree to a bush, landing blows where he could and desperately looking for some way to fight back. At times he and Gabriel fought, stick against cold steel. Just once he felt a burning pain in his side, but he ignored it. He had to move, he had to fight. His prince needed him.

A yell from Aziraphale dragged his attention away for too long. The prince was bleeding—Aziraphale was—

Gabriel slammed into him pushing him back against a tree. With a smack of his blade, the branch in his hand went flying. Crowley stared into violet eyes as the blade leveled at his chest.

* * *

Aziraphale knew that under normal circumstances, he’d stand no chance against three of the royal guard. Still, he couldn’t help the relief that thrummed through him that they approached him and left Crowley alone. He wanted to scream for him to run, though he knew he never would.

As the guards swung their blades, Aziraphale realized they were holding back. Gabriel ordered me taken alive. That was his chance, the only one. He pressed his advantage, attacking hard. When the first guard fell, he spared a glance for Crowley. He was ducking behind trees, that was good. Moving was good, it meant they were both still alive. A smack to his blade hand made him hiss, though he didn’t regret the glance he’d stolen.

Both remaining guards attacked at once and a blade caught his wrist, causing him to switch to the other hand. His body was bruised with the flat of the swords as they both again attacked. He had no shield, he cursed. 

A slice seared his arm and he cried out in pain before deciding to focus on one man at a time. They had to take him alive, he had no such compunctions. He ignored the bruising blade as he cut down first one guard and then turned his attention to the final one. As the man fell, he took in the clearing, searching for Crowley.

Gabriel had backed Crowley against a tree, a sword point pressed against the fabric just above his heart.

With a yell, Aziraphale lunged forward desperate to separate them. His older brother fell back and Crowley gasped out his relief. His hand was over his side, had he been injured? No time, he’d deal with that after he handled Gabriel.

The Prince was the better fighter, but he was exhausted and injured. Gabriel smirked as he easily drove him back and away. There was no elegance to his attacks, and frustration burned in Aziraphale that he couldn’t get his body to respond as he needed it to.

With a lucky hit, Aziraphale’s blade dropped to the forest floor and now instead of Crowley it was Aziraphale pressed back against a tree, blade aimed at his chest.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” Gabriel complained, “All you had to do was follow some basic orders.”

“I love him,” Aziraphale pleaded for understanding. He would not leave this clearing without Crowley. He couldn’t—

Gabriel opened his mouth angrily but his eyebrows drew close in confusion and he did not speak. Blood spilled from his lips as he slid to his knees and then fell to the ground.

Crowley stood behind him, his hand still hovered in the air with a dagger clasped tightly in it. Aziraphale tentatively reached out, taking the blade from his frozen grip and throwing it into the woods.

“I’m sorry, he’s your brother,” Crowley babbled. “I didn’t want him to hurt you, I’m sorry—”

Aziraphale pulled him close. “You did what you needed to,” he murmured. The redhead shook in his embrace. “Darling, it’s alright. It’s over. It’s all over now. No one will take you away from me again.” He pulled a hand back to run it through Crowley’s hair and froze as he realized it was covered in blood. His partner’s golden eyes shone for a moment, then fell closed as he collapsed into Aziraphale’s arms.

A scream wanted to wrench its way out of his throat, but it was stopped only by the small rise and fall of Crowley’s chest. He didn’t have time for that.

As the prince carefully lowered him to the ground, Elva and Lea burst back into the clearing. Elva drew her sword instantly on the alert, but Lea ran towards them as Aziraphale pulled back Crowley’s jacket finding the wicked wound on his abdomen. He pressed down, staunching the flow. There was so much blood… 

“Lea, the sewing kit. It’s on the mule, in Crowley’s green bag.” She dashed away and returned moments later, holding it out.

“Press here, please. Push down.” Aziraphale ordered as he quickly threaded the needle. He turned back to his lover, hands shaking slightly.

Chapter Text

The first time Crowley had blinked open his eyes, it had been night. He didn’t quite recognize the bed he lay in, but it smelled of Aziraphale. And there was a weight on his thigh. A head there, with familiar blond curls. He sank back into sleep.

The next time he didn’t open his eyes, but he heard Lea’s voice. “The color is returning to his face, just look how pink his lips are. And the wound looks healthy, there’s no sign of infection. He’ll be alright, Aziraphale.”

That was good. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but someone should take care of Aziraphale. He couldn’t quite push past this darkness to do so.

He forced his eyes open. Aziraphale’s own peered back at him relieved. “Let me get you some water.” He held a wet rag to Crowley’s lips and the tailor licked the sweet wetness, swallowing what he could. “It’s alright, you’re safe. We’re all safe,” Aziraphale said. That was good, he could sleep more then.

Elva sat there the next time he became aware. “They needed to take care of some things. He’ll be back soon. It’s alright, you can sleep.”

Finally, Crowley felt well and truly awake. Everything hurt, yet this was different than those other times. Perhaps it was the pain that made it more real.

It assuredly wasn’t his own bed. Far too soft, and the scent. Oh, it was heavenly. 

“‘Ziraphale?”

There was a shifting at the foot of the bed and an exhausted blond head popped up from where he’d fallen asleep in his chair next to Crowley’s feet. “My dear, are you awake this time?” He reached out taking Crowley’s hand.

“Think so?” he choked out.

“There have been a few false alarms. Though those were better than the first day. That day you were so pale and still, I was terrified I’d been too slow.” 

“How—how long?”

Aziraphale sat on the edge of the bed as he brought Crowley’s hand up to kiss his fingers. “Three days. It’s been three days, and well the better part of a night now, I suppose. Here you must be parched, I’ve been dripping water into your mouth but I feared it wouldn’t be enough.” He leaned back and grabbed a water skin from the table.

Crowley started to shift to sit up, but pain shot through him and he flopped back down with a cry.

“Oh! No my dear, easy does it. Your muscles are bound to be sore, here let me…” Aziraphale carefully eased his body up, pushing more pillows behind him until he was in a mostly sitting position then held out the water skin again.

He drank, but slowly. Mindful of both the pain and his roiling stomach. When he was finished, his hand slid down and he felt the gash there, carefully sewn shut. His fingers played over the stitching. “What…”

Aziraphale whispered, “I do hope I did a satisfactory job. I learned to sew from the best, but this one was rather important to get right.”

"Y-you did great. Fixed me right up."

“Yes, well…” Guilt and pain flashed across Aziraphale’s face. “You wouldn’t have been there were it not for me.”

“Not your fault,” Crowley said stubbornly.

Aziraphale decided to save the argument for another time. Instead, he helped Crowley lay back down and curled around him, holding him tightly. “You’re still breathing,” he reassured himself.

“Thanks to you,” Crowley assured him. “Gabriel…”

“Is gone. You missed the funeral, though I doubt you wanted to attend.” The Prince’s hand strayed to where the gash was, as he examined it carefully. “It was such a shame, the King really should know to take a proper guard if he’s going to go into the woods. Thieves and bandits are everywhere.”

“What happened?”

“Well, the kingdom needed a ruler.”

Crowley caught his hand and brought it to his lips to kiss it. “You?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Not quite. I had a long talk with Lea. She’s not keen on returning home and didn’t want to leave us. I didn’t want to be king, but she was married to me that makes her…”

“The Queen.”

Aziraphale’s hand stole away from Crowley’s touch to run through his hair. “Yes, well. There’s quite the gossip for the kingdom. You see, it’s not every day that the ruling Queen annuls her own marriage, but we checked all the by-laws. That left two unmarried monarchs, which simply wouldn’t do. So of course, I abdicated. I am but a lowly prince once more.” He leaned in and kissed Crowley’s forehead. “Your prince. As long as you’ll have me.”

“Lea’s queen?” Crowley couldn’t tell if the tale itself was ridiculous or if he just couldn’t keep up.

“Queen Azalea,” Aziraphale confirmed. “She has a delightful royal consort, they’ve already made things official. As I will with you, if you’ll still have me.”

It was all too much. Tears leaked out and a sob shook Crowley. That this nightmare could somehow resolve itself so easily seemed beyond comprehension. His hands fidgeted and found an embroidered flower to nervously thumb over. He realized the blanket he’d wrapped so long ago around Aziraphale now lay over him.

Aziraphale cried as he held his hand, but he smiled through the tears. Warmth filled him. Hope. It was hope.

* * *

It took a week before Crowley was able to stand up and walk easily about the castle. He’d never been able to visit unhindered by whispers and glares before, and enjoyed his time immensely. Lea and Elva checked in on him constantly and the group shared most of their meals, talking about the transition in leadership and how to serve the kingdom best.

Still, it only took ten days before the night Crowley wistfully asked Aziraphale, “can we go home?”

The next morning the prince fretfully bundled him up and despite the tailor’s protests that he could walk, Aziraphale lifted him onto his own horse, holding him tightly as the calm mare plodded her way to the shop. The prince carried him into the shop, not relenting his grip on Crowley until he could place him down in their own bed and hurry off to kindle the fire. The tailor grumpily peeled off the far too many layers for the brisk spring day but left the flower blanket around his shoulders as he stepped out into the shop.

He silently watched Aziraphale feeding the flames to build the hearth, glancing back at Crowley concern on his face.

“Are you going to mother hen me the rest of our lives?”

“Just until you’re better,” Aziraphale protested as he stood. “I’ve lost you once, please don’t make me go through that again.”

Crowley softened at the quiet admission and crossed the room. He opened the blanket to wrap both his arms and the warm cloth around Aziraphale pulling him close. “S’alright. We’re home.”

“Are you sure you’d like me to stay?”

A laugh bubbled through his lips. “Like you to? If I had my way I’d lock you in here. Well, at least for a week or two. I’d fall asleep beside you each night and never worry if you’d still be there when I woke up in the morning. Aziraphale I— there is nothing more or less I’ve ever wanted than you. Every part of you, whenever I can have it.”

“I’ll never leave you know,” Aziraphale promised fervently as he rested his forehead against Crowley’s.

“Nothing would make me happier,” he breathed out.

Chapter Text

The door clicked shut and Crowley set down the stitching he’d been toiling over. It wasn’t anything important, a small bit of embroidery to calm his restless fingers. Sometime soon he’d need to take on some actual commissions again, but resting and healing had been the priority.

Aziraphale unloaded the bags in his arms, putting away the groceries and other supplies he’d brought home. That, too, was something Crowley wanted to get back to. He missed the market and its bustle and people. Everything felt healed up enough to allow it, and perhaps in a few days, he’d give it a try.

His tasks, completed, Aziraphale slid onto the sofa next to Crowley a small package in his hands. “I, er. Well, I hope you don’t mind but I wanted it to be a surprise.” The fabric wrapping the package was light blue silk. “Go on, open it.” The prince barely concealed his excitement.

Crowley went antagonizingly slow as Aziraphale huffed slightly. Once he reached out to untie the knot himself when the tailor was obviously stalling. Soon enough, he was to the final layer and Crowley took a deep breath in before flipping the fabric out of the way.

On his lap lay two identical embroidered royal emblems. Crowley had stitched Aziraphale’s many times and knew it by heart. This wasn’t it.

The Prince reached out to trace the broken sword that had been stitched back together. “Swordbreak, well it was quite a silly name wasn’t it? And…” The silver thread of the needle stitched next to the sword seemed to almost glow, its trailing red thread a spark of life wrapped around the sword even as it held it together.

“You…”

“Changed it, yes. It is customary, you know. Royal weddings are considered alliances. Usually, something is altered to acknowledge both.”

“I… Aziraphale.”

The prince chuckled and kissed his cheek fondly before gesturing to the Spring Ball gown that still hung in the corner of the shop. Crowley gave a small yelp that made Aziraphale frown as he hurried to the gown and pulled it from the rack to hold the patch up to it, trying to sort where it belonged before grabbing a pin and placing it over where his heart would be.

* * *

Crowley finally donned the gown he’d crafted for the Spring Ball, a please glance down at the last-minute addition of the patch. He took his time, curling his hair and pulling it back so it hung around his face in loose ringlets. He could hear Aziraphale pacing in the shop proper, already dressed and waiting. The tailor pulled his shoulders back as he opened the door.

Aziraphale froze in his tracks. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. At Crowley’s stare, he looked down self-consciously at the doublet he wore. “Did I button something wrong…”

Fast as a striking snake, Crowley leaped at Aziraphale pulling him in and kissing him. Hands rushed up to run through curls softer than any fabric he’d ever found and a groan slipped from his lips. “Mine, you’re mine,” he wondered. Still not quite sure he could trust that this wouldn’t once more disappear in front of him.

“Truly,” Aziraphale promised, nuzzling his neck gently. “And as much as I plan to take this all off and utterly ravish you, we do have a rather important date to keep?”

“Y-yeah.” Crowley rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder for just a moment before straightening and reaching out to take the prince’s arm. 

* * *

When Aziraphale and Lea had gone through their farce of a wedding, it felt as if the entire kingdom had been invited. The pair had stood, stiff and tense in front of dozens, if not hundreds, of upturned faces all trying to get a glimpse of the Prince’s new partner. Royal arrangements were, after all, an important affair.

Yet when asked, Crowley had requested something more private. So the pair arrived well before the rest of the guests to the prepared ballroom. Elva hurried out any who lingered in the room besides herself and Lea before returning to stand in front of them.

Words were said in barely more than a whisper as Aziraphale and Crowley’s foreheads rested against each other. Lea wound the ribbon around their clasped hands, a burnished gold shimmering between them.

As Lea finished the ceremonial words, the pair stood there. Crowley’s cheeks were wet with tears despite his smile. Aziraphale tilted his head just enough to catch Crowley’s lips in a tender kiss as he lifted their still-bound hands so he could cradle the tailor’s face, his thumb wiping the tears away.

The kiss broke and Aziraphale nuzzled him softly before he slowly unwound the shining ribbon and rolled it tightly. He held it out, presenting it to Crowley. The tailor dutifully took the gift, tucking it into a small pocket of his gown.

“It’s real?” Crowley whispered.

“I am yours,” Aziraphale said easily. “Though I suppose it’s not official until we consummate the partnership, we could head home early…”

Crowley chuckled at the wanton grin on Aziraphale’s face. “Should probably stick around for at least some of the Ball. I hear it’s for us. I’d like to dance.”

“Then we shall. For as long as you’d like.” The blond kissed his forehead. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, I think I am.”

The two held each other tightly as they turned back to the Queen and her consort.

* * *

Crowley had long since lost count of the number of times Aziraphale had twirled him across the floor when Elva cut in with a laugh and promise that he couldn’t keep Aziraphale to himself for the entire ball, even if it was purely in their honor.

The tailor found a spot to lean against the wall and watch the pair. The wild laughter on Elva’s face told him whatever story Aziraphale whispered to her on the dance floor must have been a happy one. He wasn’t surprised when Lea found him and slid beside him, taking his hand to squeeze it softly. Crowley confessed quietly, “I… I never thought this would be possible. All of this. I was happy with what we had, but I never dared to dream this could happen for us. It’s all so much.”

“That’s alright, you know. But you seem stressed?”

“A little.”

Lea studied him for a moment before she spoke. “At any time, everything could fall apart around us. I think you know that. But tonight? This is a stolen night from the universe. One where we can simply exist with our joy. Let yourself enjoy that. There will be time enough for the troubles when they come. If they come at all.”

The song ended and the musicians stepped away for a brief moment. Aziraphale’s sparkling eyes found him across the dance floor. And the knot that he’d been unaware he’d tied around his heart loosened. Lea let go of his hand and nudged his shoulder instead.

Like a bow loosened from an arrow he nearly flew across the room and threw himself into Aziraphale’s arms. The prince lifted him, twirling him with a laugh before he kissed him soundly. And Crowley let himself believe that sometimes fairytales have happy endings. After all, Aziraphale had read enough of them to him, hadn’t he?

Hours later with a mischievous smirk, his prince pulled him through the room into a servant’s passage where he was pulled in for a languid kiss. “Do you want to stay here?” Aziraphale asked huskily.

“Home. Let’s go home,” Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale pulled him down the side passage and out into the castle grounds. They wandered through the gardens, taking their time. Crowley pointed out some of the plants he knew and Aziraphale plucked a rose, tucking it behind his ear. Eventually, they made their way to the gate and the summer breeze rushed them along until the door to the shop was closed behind them.

“It’s warm should we—”

There wasn’t time to finish his sentence before Aziraphale pressed him back against the wall, kissing first his lips then working his way down the neckline of the dress. “If you suggest opening the windows, I swear I will make every neighbor for blocks hear you call my name tonight,” the prince growled as his hands wrapped around Crowley’s back, unhooking the dress clasps so it could be pulled down his shoulders. “On second thought, maybe we should. Leave no doubts after all.”

They could, Crowley realized. There was no reason to be quiet any longer, to hide what they had. “You’re a bit of a bastard, you know that?” Crowley squirmed slightly, letting the gown fall into a heap on the floor. It deserved better, but he’d take care of it in the morning. The linen chemise he wore underneath clung to his skin and Aziraphale hummed appreciatively before pulling Crowley closer. The tailor shivered and clung to him a soft cry slipping from his lips that made Aziraphale freeze.

“Darling, are you alright?”

“‘M fine.”

Aziraphale wasn’t convinced. He leaned back so he could more easily meet Crowley’s gaze. How did the storm in the prince’s eyes look so gentle? “Alright. I am going to put away our outfits. There are supplies for tea if you’d like to make some and meet me on the sofa? Peppermint maybe?”

With a small flourish, Aziraphale gestured for Crowley to step away from the gown so he could scoop it up and hang it. The tailor perplexedly watched him for a moment before feeding the banked fire enough to heat some water for the tea.

The doublet was carefully untied from the breeches and both were put away in their place. Aziraphale pulled on a long night shirt just as the water started to boil. He wrapped himself around Crowley from behind for a moment before helping carry the tea cups to the sofa. When the tailor was unsure where to sit, Aziraphale placed his cup on the side table and opened his arms.

Warmth flooded him as he curled up in the prince’s embrace.

“When you’re ready, I’m here,” Aziraphale murmured as he kissed the top of his head.

“Don’t want to make you wait,” Crowley confessed.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms more tightly around Crowley. “You’re worth it, I assure you. Drink your tea?”

So Crowley did. He sipped at the tea and tried to sort out the whirlwind of emotions that swirled through him. The joy intermingled with frustration that it could have always been like this. And yet, he worried about ruining this perfect evening.

The prince didn’t interrupt his thoughts. He gently massaged Crowley’s head then separated a small bit of the tailor’s hair and braided it, so that instead of ringlets, the single braid rested on Crowley’s face.

With a sigh, he set his own mug down then stretched his arms up and back, wrapping them around Aziraphale’s neck and turning his head to catch him in a soft kiss. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I know this isn’t how you had planned tonight, I’m only… well…”

Aziraphale’s hands dropped to his waist. “A little overwhelmed is all. The last few months have been a whirlwind.”

“Do you think it’ll last?” Crowley asked, terrified of the answer.

“Is that what’s bothering you? You think I may change my mind?”

No. That was ludicrous. “I thought after the ceremony it would feel more real. What if you don’t have a choice? What if this is all just a fever dream? What if someone finds out about Gabriel and decides I should pay or that comes for you—” What if I lose you? He couldn’t say that, not to Aziraphale.

“Do you remember how I woke up that first week you were back? The times I simply started crying, realizing you were truly here?” Aziraphale kissed the nape of Crowley’s neck. “I understand, my love. But I promise you this. You are mine, and I am yours and nothing in this world or any other will ever change that. The ceremony was so the world would know that very real truth between us.”

Crowley shifted to face Aziraphale, straddling him. “You truly believe that?”

Aziraphale laid his hand on Crowley’s chest and smiled. “With all my heart.”

The tension in Crowley's body eased.

The prince drew a hand across Crowley’s cheek. “That’s it. What would make you happy tonight?”

“You. In anyway. Every way. You.”

With one fluid movement, Aziraphale stood lifting Crowley. The tailor wrapped his legs around the prince’s waist and his arms around Aziraphale’s body, clinging to him tightly even as the blond carefully supported his weight as he carried him back to the bedroom. 

“Aziraphale! ”

The prince hummed innocently as he leaned forward, dropping Crowley into the safety of their bed.

“You are impossible,” Crowley grumbled, but he didn’t unhook his legs from where they wrapped around Aziraphale, instead pulling him closer.

“Unrepentant,” the prince added easily. “Incorrigible. And utterly yours. You really should have considered that yesterday before you partnered me.”

A laugh spilled from Crowley. He couldn’t keep it in. This ridiculous person, this prince who was shifting his legs just enough to pull his night shirt off and throw it to the side. Fuck. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Ah, is that what fooled you?” Aziraphale smirked as he leaned in to kiss Crowley, pushing the chemise down his shoulder so that he could pepper it with kisses as well. “Why are you still wearing this? It’s preventing me from properly appreciating you.”

Crowley thrust his hips up, grinding his quickly hardening cock against Aziraphale. “Because someone picked me up and haphazardly tossed me onto the bed.”

Aziraphale lifted up onto his knees peering at the door curiously. “Oh did they?” He shifted, leaving one knee on the bed and resting his foot on the floor as if to move. “I shall have to go find this scoundrel and tell him to be far more gentle with the person I love. Haphazardly.”

With a groan, Crowley darted his hand out grabbing Aziraphale’s own and tugging him back onto the bed where the prince met his gaze guilelessly. “Don’t you dare.” The redhead rested his hand on Aziraphale’s cheek. “Hey,” he whispered softly.

“Why hello there,” Aziraphale returned catching the hand and kissing it as his other slid to tug up the hem of Crowley’s chemise. As the blond leaned in for an unhurried kiss his hand wrapped around his partner’s cock, stroking it slowly. His voice softened, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Crowley breathed out, lifting a leg to wrap it around Aziraphale’s waist. The prince’s touch on his skin felt like the softest silk until he swiped a thumb across the head of Crowley’s cock causing him to shiver. “You did that on purpose.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale promised. “I did say I wanted the neighbors to hear you tonight, do you think I can make you call my name before this is over? I’m afraid I’ve grown rather attached to the idea of not needing to hide anything any longer.”

Crowley thought he really should take better control of the situation, but Aziraphale’s stormy gaze was intense, his lips pursed. There was nothing to argue, he’d already given himself over heart and soul, and the prince could certainly have anything else he desired. “Please, do.”

Aziraphale licked his lips hungrily sending a thrill of want through Crowley. The blond leaned back and grabbed the oil from the bedside table, and before the tailor realized what was coming suddenly two of Aziraphale’s fingers were inside him. Gently stretching and probing and— “Fuck.”

The prince curled his fingers just so. Ridiculous. They’d been together decades and here he was falling apart at the first touch. Opening, yes but he was going to come on this alone if Aziraphale kept it up for long. He found he didn’t care as he reached out to grab Aziraphale’s shoulders groaning at the touch.

“That’s right,” the prince crooned. “I’ve got you.” His free hand wrapped around the back of Crowley’s head, pulling him in for a forceful kiss as he curled his fingers again. 

Crowley couldn’t stop the thrust of his hips or the way his mouth moved against Aziraphale’s as he moaned.

“You’re so beautiful when you want me,” Aziraphale whispered as the kiss broke.

“Always want you,” Crowley managed to gasp out.

The prince hummed softly but used the conversation as an excuse to slide his fingers from Crowley. He shifted back onto his knees between the redhead’s legs. With a moment's thought, he grabbed a pillow to slide under the tailor’s hips. “Lay back for me, please? Let go.”

Another dash of oil and Aziraphale was stroking his own cock and he perched there waiting.

 “Stunning. So enchanting,” the redhead muttered. His hands clenched at the sheets but he relaxed back onto the bed. “Please?”

As he finally relented and slid into Crowley, the redhead relished the moment Aziraphale’s face went lax with pleasure. He would never tire of seeing the way his lips fell open just slightly and the creases in his brow faded. His own cock ached as Aziraphale began to move. “‘Ziraphale,” he groaned.

"Louder, please." The crack in his voice made Crowley’s heart race. He had tried to say it calmly, but it came out a broken request. As if to make up for it, the next movement Aziraphale sped up, crashing into Crowley.

“Touch me, touch me, please,” Crowley babbled out. The prince’s hand wrapped around his cock, and a gentle stroke had Crowley throwing his head back. “Aziraphale. Aziraphale!” He groaned pushing his hips up, desperate for—

When release came he wasn’t sure if he was still managing Aziraphale’s name or just a groan. His hips stuttered and shook, but Aziraphale’s sure hands caught him holding him.

The prince fucked gently fucked him through it. “That’s right, Crowley. My Crowley.”

Crowley was just aware enough to tell when Aziraphale came, the soft groan so much quieter than his own, but the prince made up for it with the grip on his hips. There would be marks there tomorrow, but Crowley would treasure each of them.

Finally spent, Aziraphale fell to the bed next to him. The tailor pulled the prince into his arms holding him tightly. Tired and sated, they slept.

* * *

One Year Later

On a small street, a sign hangs from a shop with a needle and thread. The tailor within is in high demand. The queen herself is said to visit, purchasing only gowns made by his hands.

Beneath the needle and thread is a quill and book, for the scribe who lives with him. The townspeople say he is a prince, and the tailor certainly refers to him as such. Visitors wonder at this, but most conclude it’s nothing more than a pet name for a beloved partner.

For it is absolutely clear to all the two are in love.