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alysmarylin · 5 years

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The war is over, my love is not

The second part of a fic about Crowley and Aziraphale during World War II, the first part is here (sorry, don't know how to insert proper links):

In this fic Aziraphale and Crowley meet for the first time since 1941 among ruins of Berlin. I'm a Russian myself and I entertained a thought that Crowley made friends with Soviet soldiers.

Aziraphale could smell the scent of Death in the air. He'd been on Earth since the very beginning of time, and he'd seen just as many deaths as anyone could. But it was different there, in ruins of Berlin, where bodies piled up among rocks and metal and ragged cloth. He knew, reasonably, that if the world was about to end, he'd be notified. It wasn't a horseman on a paled mare whose name was Death, not yet - it was nothing but works of Man. And yet, if felt like the end of the world. He was an angel, but even he started to fear that God wasn't there anymore.

Aziraphale came there by the end of April, out of his own will, wishing to help as many souls reach Heaven as he could. He filled those dying of despair and dread with hope and forgiveness, he eased the pain of children he couldn't save, he gave heartbroken mothers' souls respite, he healed festered wounds of those whose flesh was torn apart and rotting.

He wished he could've ended it all, long before it came to that, but one angel couldn't stop the madness of a Mankind, and God... God was silent.

"Animals don't kill each other with clever machines, angel, only humans do that" - he heard Crowley's words inside his head. Oh, to think he believed the guilliotine was the worst they could do... Crowley always turned out to be right. Aziraphale would get angry at him, but in the end, he'd always be right. Last time he saw Crowley, in 1941, they both thought they've already seen butchery and unmatched atrocities. That was before Auschwitz. He wondered, what Crowley would've said about Auschwitz. He wondered where Crowley was.

"Maybe I should've told him".

He often wondered if it was his love for Crowley that kept him going for past 4 years. He'd seen a lot of things that made it hard to still love humanity, or trust God with his ineffable plan. But his will to see Crowley once again - to take him for a long walk or to a dinner out, or just to look at him from afar, made it all worth surviving. Even what he'd seen in Poland. One could never forget those kinds of things...

His eyes filled with tears, despite his best efforts. If only tears of angel could heal the humanity, or just one single human soul.

He walked further from the ruins towards the street, when he hears a sudden noise that broke the silence. Aziraphale stopped.

That was a tank driving down the street, men speaking and laughing in some foreign language. Russians? Might be. It was a time for their victory, after all. It was their time to celebrate and laugh, before they come back to their ravished homes to cry once again.

Suddenly, the tank stopped and one man took off and walked down the street. Other men waved him goodbye as they moved forward.

The man seemed healthy enough to walk, and as far as Aziraphale could see, there was no blood on his face or his clothes. He was dressed in grey or dusty black, and his clothes seemed ragged and dirty, but so was everything else - there was nothing but dirt and blood and ashes around them. The man was walking towards him. His face was covered in dirt as well. And then, as sun came out from the clouds and lighted the entire street, the man's hair shone with flaming red tounges of fire underneath all the filth that covered it.

"A redhead", Aziraphale thought. "It's well past time I stopped shivering at every readheaded man I see". But he couldn't help it. He couldn't take that picture out of his head. And then he heard man's voice.

- You really don't change, angel. All that wreckage around and you're all in white.

He didn't want to believe his ears or eyes. He had already been mistaken for a couple of times before, and that bitter realisation had always been way more painful than no hope at all.

But it was unmistakenly Crowley, thinner than ever, in ragged clothes, white teeth shining like angel's wing, as he was grinning mischovously. His red hair was a huge mess, he was covered in dust, but he still managed to wear dark glasses in all this poorest state of affaies.

- Show me your eyes. - Aziraphale mumbled. - I want to know I'm not hallucinating.

- They shouldn't be surprised to see snaky-eyed lad after what they've done themselves, angel. - Crowley took his glasses off, but then put them back within a moment. - But I still prefer my privacy.

- Oh, Crowley! - Aziraphale grabbed him in his arms, unable to hold tears anymore. - I'm so glad to see you. I've seen such horror, I've.... I've been here since April, and I was in Poland before that, and I almost lost my faith...

- Come on, don't be like that. - Crowley gently pushed him away. - I can't blame you for your tears, though. There were things that could make Satan himself tremble. But it's not demonic work, of that I can assure you.

- I know. Works of Man. Our Lord's most beloved creation. - Aziraphale was well past the point when he blamed Hell for human atrocities.

- Well, I guess it's almost over now. - Crowley gently put his arm on angel's shoulder. - I was planning to go home soon enough.

- Home?

- London, not Hell. You wanna go with me?

Aziraphale felt bad for feeling so much joy amidst such destruction, and yet he couldn't help but smile.

- I do. I haven't been there in a while. The place I lived in was destroyed. My bookshop, though - I hope it's alright.

- I'll have to find myself a new place. Maybe you could give me some advice, I haven't been to England since I left in 1941. I left my Bentley in Paris, in some reliable hands. Well, I hope they're reliable. I have to believe car's fine, or else I won't forgive myself.

- I bet there's not a scratch on it. - Aziraphale smiled. He told himself he'd use all his powers if something happened to Crowley's car. - We can drive home together, if you wish.

- I don't think it's safe, angel. We'd better meet in London. At least there IS London to meet in. - Crowley smiled.

They walked past ruins, as sun was setting down.

- Those soldiers, - Aziraphale asked - That dropped you off... You spoke their language? You speak Russian?

- Why act all surprised? - Crowley sounded a bit offended. - I speak a number of languages, I've been there for a while, you know. Not that I'm fluent or anything, but I made it clear I'm not a German, for a start.

- Have you been there? On Eastern front? - One thing Aziraphale knew of Eastern front, is that young boys came back all white-haired from there, if they were lucky, or unlucky enough to survive it.

- For a while. I've been to a number of places. Not that I want to recall it now, when all this is over.

They reached the crossroads, and Crowley stopped.

- You're here to help people find their final peace, aren't you? - Crowley asked.

- I am. And you? I wonder if Hell still has any work to do, given the...

- I'll just make sure right people will make it to Hell. - Crowley smirked. - That's about all I can do now.

- I hope I'll be back in London by September. If my bookshop is still there, I'll be waiting for you to come. If not...

- I'll find you anyway, mr. Fell. Such a neat surname you made yourself - Fell. But you didn't fall, it's me who fell, no? - Crowley asked teasingly.

- I was never as good as you at making up names, Anthony J. - Aziraphale replied - If you're so good at searching for people, then I'll see you soon.

- Bye, angel. See you.

Crowley turned around and started walking down the street, his tall figure looking completely black in setting sun. Before Aziraphale could make himself start walking away, Crowley suddenly turned around and shouted:

- I told you we'd win!

, before disappearing completely.

He was right, Aziraphale thought. The nightmare of war was almost over. He was daydreaming of them, meeting once again in London, when he saw a tank driving down the street in his direction.

"It way be foolish of me, but..."

He took a bunch of flowers from inside his jacket - a miracle too minor to be noted - and threw it to the soldiers sitting on the tank. He didn't understand what they said - unlike Crowley, he didn't know a word in Russian - but they smiled at him, and Aziraphale laughed himself, for the first time in 6 years.

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