Archive of Our Own ^beta

Time Moves Slowly

The tap on the window made Aziraphale jump. He looked up to see Crowley smiling crookedly at him from under a mop of crimson curls and pointing at the window latch, indicating that it was still locked. Aziraphale tumbled off of his fluffy duvet-covered bed, sending cushions flying. The window opened with a familiar click.

“How did you get here so fast? I texted you,” he glanced at the screen of his flip phone, “two minutes ago.”

Crowley shrugged and hissed back, “I was already out for a stroll. Now get out here, my leg is cramping.”

“It is not.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep the humor out of his voice. Crowley had once stood on that lattice for an hour, the two whispering back and forth through the window, when they had first started going out and the blond was still too nervous to allow his boyfriend into his room. He assumed that Crowley’s want to get down now had less to do with any leg cramps and more to do with his desire to wrap one gangly arm around the other’s broad shoulders.

Sure enough, once Aziraphale had followed the practiced path out of his window and plopped down on the soft grass, Crowley immediately hung himself like a coat on Aziraphale’s shoulders and planted a kiss on his platinum curls. It was such a common gesture at this point but Aziraphale’s round cheeks turned warm anyway. Cold fingers found warm ones and, hand in hand, the two quickly and quietly strode out of the Fell’s backyard.

The couple had been caught only once. After a particularly rough argument with his demented family, Crowley had gotten completely plastered and wandered his way to the only thing, or rather, person, in this world that made him feel safe and wanted. Unfortunately, the alcohol had very efficiently annihilated any capability Crowley may have had to keep quiet. Aziraphale had raced down to the yard in an attempt to quiet him but to no avail. Gabriel and Michael had both appeared to see who the bloody hell was making all the noise only to see a very drunk red-headed teenager hanging on their very flustered son.

They had managed to make the exchange look confrontational rather than affectionate, but it was still not an experience that either boy ever wanted to repeat. 

So they had gotten into the habit of not speaking until they had made it over the back fence.

“I think Amy’s is still open.” 

“It’s freezing, angel.”

“It is hardly freezing,” the ‘angel’ huffed back, rifling through his cardigan pockets, then his trousers. “It is a perfect summer night and it could do with… some… Oh.” Aziraphale pulled his hands out of his back pockets and Crowley immediately grabbed one again. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t bring my wallet.” 

The look on Aziraphale’s face was hardly heartbreaking, just a little put out really, but Crowley only had to look at it for a couple moments before letting out a short sigh. “I’m buying, angel. Come on.” 

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really, but only because your parents are being prats and you deserve some ice cream.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley could just see Aziraphale break out into that beautiful damn smile he always had whenever Crowley did something “nice,” and every damn time it made Crowley’s knees just a little wobbly.

“Thank you, dear.” Aziraphale squeezed the long fingers in his hand and briefly rested his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder as they continued to walk through backyards. Side, side, back, side, street. It had taken a lot of trial and error to figure out the perfect path through the neighborhood’s backyards, (and very occasionally front yards), in order to get where they needed to go without being seen by any nosy neighbors. No one ever thought to check along their own back fence, and for the most part their established path never caused them any problems. 

They were only one yard away from the car park outside Amy’s, Crowley about to jump off the fence to land next to Aziraphale, when a sound made them both freeze. A low, soft growl. Very slowly, they both turned to see a small, though admittedly intimidating, dog, teeth bared and tail bristled. 

“Angel…”

“Right… back to the Pulsifer’s or should we make a run for it?”

Crowley swallowed, trying to move his lips as little as possible. “I mean, he’s small. We can probably make it.”

“You sure?” Crowley barely moved his head in an affirmative nod. “Ok, on three. One, two, three!” Crowley launched himself from the fence and the two boys sprinted across the yard, which felt much larger than it ever had before. Aziraphale was up and over the fence with amazing speed and agility for someone his size. Somehow Crowley always managed to forget that the angel was the athletic one out of the two of them. The dog was barking now and Crowley thought he saw a light turn on in the house. Aziraphale was still standing on the fence, leaning over dangerously far and offering his assistance to the gangly boy behind him. Body pounding with adrenaline, Crowley grabbed his arm and felt himself yanked up and almost over the tall wooden fence. With one good kick, Crowley launched himself the last bit of the way, landing himself in a heap of leather and cardigan with a small thump . From the other side of the fence, they could hear the continued barking of the small demon hound as well as a young voice.

“Dog! Knock it off!” There was some shuffling from the other side of the wood and Crowley suddenly had a small and warm hand over his mouth. Aziraphale was completely still, clinging tightly to the black-clad boy practically on top of him. “Come on, dog. No use barking at things running through the garden. They have as much a right to be here as you.” More growling. “Will you shut up if I take you inside?” Something banged on the fence. The two hiding teenagers nearly jumped out of their skin, (Crowley most certainly would have yelped if his mouth hadn’t been covered), before they realized that the banging must be the sound of the dog’s wagging tail colliding with the fence right next to them. “Yeah.” Sigh. “Alright, then. Let’s go, Dog.”

Aziraphale didn’t release his grip until he heard the backdoor open and close. Crowley let out a breath. “When the fuck did the Young’s get a bloody dog?” 

Realizing he was still sitting in his boyfriend’s lap, Crowley hastily got up and turned around. Aziraphale was quite the sight; thoroughly ruffled blond curls, some sticking almost completely up, very pink cheeks, a crooked and slightly loose bowtie. The fence had caused some pulls in the large sweater. He looked almost exactly like he did every other time Crowley had ended up in his lap. Aziraphale noticed, with some quiet satisfaction, that Crowley didn’t looked much better. At the very least, there were certainly some unintended holes in his jeans along with all the intentional ones and his sunglasses were desperately askew.

After another second of half concerned, half appreciative gazes, the two burst into laughter. It had been a while since they had had to book it through a yard.

Once they had both calmed down a bit, Crowley offered his hand and pulled Aziraphale up off the ground. With an extra little tug, the angel fell into Crowley’s chest, cheek pressed to the leather on his shoulder, nose warmed on his lean neck. They both stood there for a few more moments, still suppressing a giggle here and there.

“Right,” Crowley said suddenly, straightening both his posture and his sunglasses. “Ice cream. Let’s go!”

… 

“Welcome to A- Oh, it’s you two.” The young woman behind the counter sat back down to resume reading her magazine, round glasses perched on the end of her long nose.

“Lovely to see you too, Anathema. So sorry to interrupt your reading. I’m sure it’s of the utmost importance.”

“Up yours, serpent,” Anathema responded blandly, turning the page of her magazine. Crowley simply responded by sticking out his tongue and waggling it at her. Aziraphale, quite used to their uncouth banter by now, didn’t say anything, only letting out a small sigh. “What’ll it be, boys?”

“I would like a scoop of the cinnamon roll on a sugar cone, please.”

“Anything for you, Aziraphale.” She plopped her reading material back down on the counter and grabbed one of the scoops, gouging a huge chunk out of the vat of cinnamon roll ice cream. She glanced up at Crowley as she pressed the absurdly large amount of ice cream onto the absurdly small cone. “Why can’t you be more like him?”

There was the sound of scrunching leather as the red-head shrugged. “Balance?”

Anathema just shook her head. “Here ya go, one sugar cone.” She carefully handed the dessert to the waiting angel. 

“Thank you very much, dear.”

Her smile was warm as she responded. “No problem at all.” As Aziraphale started happily licking at the cone, Anathema turned back to Crowley, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

“You know what I want.”

She just rolled her eyes and turned to grab one of the bright red popsicles out of the back freezer. The chili flavored monstrosities were the stores lowest selling item, (technically they weren’t even supposed to sell popsicles), and had been kept in stock only because Crowley paid the manager, Mr. Shadwell, monthly to continue ordering them from wherever the Hell he got them. Anathema came back out and casually tossed the package over the counter where Crowley caught it, unwrapped it, and stuck the thing in his mouth. 

“￡4.70,” came Anathema’s voice from behind her magazine. Crowley pulled a five from his wallet and placed it on the counter next to their server’s feet.

“Keep the change,” he added with an obnoxious wink.

“Gee, thanks. Now get out of my store.” The two turned to leave. “Oh, and Aziraphale? Come by without the snake sometimes, kay?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Will do, dear. Lovely seeing you again.”

Anathema waved from behind a picture of Stonehenge. “You’re an angel on Earth, Aziraphale.”

The small bell tinkled as Crowley exited the store, Aziraphale in tow, both licking at their treats contentedly. Neither spoke but they both knew where they were going. Their hands found each other with ease and they continued down the dark street.

… 

Mr. Gaiman lived precisely one block away from Amy’s in the opposite direction from both the Fell and Crowley households. His house was small and homey-feeling and the front yard had an immense amount of tree coverage, including an ancient weeping willow, which effectively hid any inhabitants from the surrounding windows. Despite the fact that his children had grown and moved away over a decade ago, the good-natured old man hadn’t had the heart to change much about the house from when they were still kids. This meant that, among other things, an old tire swing still clung to one of the willow branches, rope fraying and rubber cracking slightly but still perfectly stable. Everyone in the neighborhood knew that Mr. Gaiman went to bed somewhere around 8:30 or 9 and slept like the dead until early morning, meaning there could be a block party on his front porch and he would be none the wiser.

It didn’t take Crowley and Aziraphale long to discover that this was the only place in the entire neighborhood, (the entire city, really), where they could truly have some guaranteed privacy.

The tire swing groaned slightly as Aziraphale put his legs through it but otherwise heald. The sticky ice cream was starting to melt down his fingers, as it always did, due to the fact that the food junky outright refused to eat anything quickly. Crowley had finished his popsicle in about two and a half minutes and had subsequently thrown the stick into the street where it had stayed for precisely four seconds before Aziraphale made him pick it up and shove it in his jeans pocket. 

It was quiet as they sat there, Aziraphale on the tire and Crowley against the tree trunk, sunglasses hanging from his collar, listening to the occasional rustle of willow branches. Crowley watched his angel continue to delicately lick away at the ice cream cone and a wave of resentment washed over him. A wave of resentment for both their families for making this so stupidly difficult. He wanted to take Aziraphale out without having to sneak around. He wanted to proclaim to the rooftops that the soft blond man in front of him was his and that Crowley loved him with all his heart. But that would end very badly for both of them.

Crowley let the resentment pass with a long sigh and turned his full attention back to his secret boyfriend who was now crunching on the last bits of cone. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” The question was quiet but its weight was clear. 

Aziraphale let out a long sigh and ate the last of his cone before responding. “I really should have known they would be like this, you know? Known that they would make it about themselves. I mean, I got into Oxford. Oxford. And here I am, thinking of all the possibilities and the classes I could take and about how many tea shops there must be on campus alone and the books . Books absolutely everywhere, and I’m just so excited about having my own life and making my own choices and… and living at the speed I want to live at. But the first thing they do is start planning everything . They have my life plotted out on a little piece of paper and they’re both telling me how it’s all gonna go down and the thing is… I don’t like their plan. I want nothing to do with it.” He hadn’t realized he was staring at his knees until he looked up to meet Crowley’s eyes. “I don’t want to keep hiding what I love in life.”

Crowley stood up and moved in front of the tire swing, bending down so his amber eyes were even with the shining blue ones. “So don’t.” 

A sad smile played at Aziraphale’s lips. “You know it’s not that easy, dear.”

“Why not?” There was no sarcasm in his tone. Not this time. Everything about Crowley said that he, in that moment, was dead serious. “Go to Oxford without them. No one has to be a part of your life if you don’t want them to be.”

“But,” the angel started to sputter, “but what about tuition? And housing? What if I need help? I’d be all alone. I-”

“You wouldn’t be alone. I’d go with you.”

Aziraphale stopped abruptly, looking back up at Crowley. “What?”

“I said I’d go with you.”

“But dear, your family.”

“Eh, fuck the lot.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Did you think I wanted to take over the family business? I know I’m good at being a conniving shit bag but I don’t want to do it professionally.” Aziraphale made a face and Crowley softened. “I’m serious, angel. I’m with you, wherever you go. No matter what.” Aziraphale didn’t say anything, just stared blankly. “That is, unless I’m not wanted.” Crowley turned to walk out of the willow branches only to be stopped by a hand on his wrist.

“Don’t be ridiculous, come here.” With warm hands, Aziraphale guided Crowley back in front of him, and in response, Crowley leaned forward, resting his forehead on Aziraphale’s. They were quiet for another moment or two, letting the conversation, the possibilities, settle around them, settle into some kind of solidity. It wasn’t impossible. It wasn’t even really improbable, even if it felt like defying the forces of Heaven and Hell and everything in between. “It’s all moving too fast.” Aziraphale’s voice was barely a whisper. “Life, the future, time. Everything.” He opened his eyes to find amber ones already looking back. “It goes too fast for me, Crowley.”

Crowley brought a hand up to cup the round cheek and felt his angel lean into his touch. “Here’s the thing, angel. Time moves slowly, if you want it to.” And he kissed the love of his life, softly and tenderly, passing along all of the love and support and hope for the future he could muster. 

And, in that moment, Aziraphale could have sworn that time stopped.