This is a two-shot, so this is the last chapter. Enjoy it while you can.

Disclaimer: I have yet to have a sex-change operation, so it'll be a while before I can claim to be either of the estimed authors. Oh well.

Chapter 2

The hot sun beat down on a little desert town, its golden radience cradling Crowley's battered essence. He looked down, calm and wondering, on a figure in the desert on the outskirts of the town. At his own figure, two thousand years younger, and very unhappy. He marvelled at it, at this view of the past. Drifting closer in the grasp of the warm wind, he listened to his own frustrated muttering, two millenia past.

XXX

Crowley grumbled loudly to himself. Dust! He hated dust. He loved the desert, loved the heat it gave to a body that remembered being cold-blooded, but he absolutely loathed the dust that lived there. Hated, hated, hated it.

He pulled himself together. As soothingly agitating as his hatred for the dust was, he could no longer allow it to distract him from his true worries. Namely, the task Hell had been kind enough to set him. How in Go ... how in He ... How was he supposed to tempt the Son himself, the second aspect of God, the Christ? How was he supposed to entice a being of such purity to sin? Provided he even got close enough to try without the Son of God blasting his demonic essence back to Hell on sight. It was impossible! They had it in for him! There was no way he could succeed.

But he had to try. Punishment for failure was pretty rough, but what they'd do if they thought he'd willfully disobeyed orders ... It didn't bear thinking about. Even if Jesus bumped him back Down on sight, at least he could honestly claim he'd tried. Cold comfort that was.

He looked up with a sigh, and started to see someone standing silently not twenty cubits away. He looked up into the man's warm brown gaze, at the gentle smile that crinkled the sun-dark features, and at the knowing glint in those eyes, and groaned. Feeling utterly despondant, he sat down in the dust that had annoyed him so much, and dropped his head into his hands. Why, oh why, did it have to be him? Crowley cursed. It made him feel a bit better, so he did it again, letting loose a litany of profanity in aramaic, hebrew, latin, and arabic for good measure. It didn't help all that much.

"Are you well?" Jesus of Nazareth asked, genuine concern in his soft voice. Crowley only groaned again, burying his face further into his cupped hands, wishing desperately to be anywhere but here, doing anything but this. "Demon?" the voice continued. "Do you need something from me? Who are you?"

Shrugging mentally, Crowley stood once more. Might as well get it over with. He faced Jesus, braced determinedly. "I'm Crowley," he said. "Or Crawly, though I don't like that one so much. Nice to meet you, big brother. And I'm here to try and tempt you from the path of righteousness, and draw you into the well of sin, and all that blah di blah. Hi."

The Christ stared at him for a moment, then his weather-beaten face brightened, and he laughed, low and gentle. It shocked Crowley. He was used to being laughed at and mocked, but this was different. There was no malice in this laughter, only genuine amusement. Jesus laughed, not at him, but almost ... for him. It was ... infectious, and the demon found his own lips stretching into a smile. It didn't feel all that bad, either.

"Crawly," the Saviour murmured, and from him the name didn't seem an insult. "Or Crowley. You're unlike any demon I've yet met. Nice to meet you too. May I ask, though, why you call me brother?"

Crowley shrugged. "You're the Son, the second aspect of the Father, begotten as part of him before angels and demons were ever created. You're his child, like me, and you came first, so you're like our big brother. Or that's what I think, anyway. Sorry if it insults you to be the brother of a demon. Though, since you're everyone's big brother, I suppose it shouldn't bother you too much. It'd be a waste of time to get worked up about every black sheep in our family. But I guess that's sort of your job, too. So poor you, and I'm rambling. Sorry."

"No problem," a bemused looking Jesus murmured. "That's interesting. Are you sure you're a demon? You don't act like one."

"Don't spread it around!" Crowley moaned. "I'm in enough trouble as it is! Yes, I'm a demon. I'm the original Temptor, the serpent of the Garden. I've got the credentials! I just don't believe in the beaurocracy of Hell, or Heaven, for that matter, so I tend to spend more time around humans than is probably healthy. Their mindset is infectious, you know."

"I know," Jesus smiled.

"Right. Of course. Sorry."

"So. You aren't even going to try and tempt me, oh great Temptor?"

Crowley bit back a grin at the playful enquiry. "Nah. Not worth the bother. And, keep this a secret, I don't really want to." Christ looked mildly surprised. Crowley was mildly surprised. Why was he trusting the Son of God with a secret that could get him killed, or worse? Oh, yeah. Right.

"I know. Not exactly demonic of me," Crowley went on. "But I'm starting to kind of like these mortals, and I'd like them to get the chance to stay out of Hell. They've so much ... everything. You know what I mean? Inside, they've got such potential for the heights of good and evil. Every single one of them has so much darkness inside, and such bright little sparks of light. I want them to have the chance to choose, and show us what they can do. I know you can't banish their darkness. I know you can't single-handedly redeem the world and carry humanity up to the heavens. But you're the Redeemer. You can show them that redemption is possible. You can show them that they have a choice. And when they choose the darkness, it will be with all their creative will. But the same when they choose good. The greater the sin, the more glorious the redemption when they choose it. Frankly, if you do your thing, we'll have more fun all round. I just ... think it'd be worth seeing, big bro. How about you?"

The smile on the brown face was radient. "Yes," the Son of God said. "Well worth it."

"Right," Crowley pronounced. "Glad we got that sorted. I'm off. And, if you happen to see Lucifer any time, you might tell him I tried, yeah?"

"You mean lie!" Jesus grinned, mock shock on his face.

"No," Crowley smiled back. "I mean use your humanity to creatively embelish the truth. Just tell him what he wants to hear, and get on with saving the world. No harm, no foul, and you'd be doing your little brother a favour."

Jesus shook his head in amusement. "I'll see what I can do, little brother."

XXX

"The greater the sin, the more glorious the redemption, little brother." The warm voice caressed him as the Presence gathered him gently back into himself, before touching him with blessed sleep. "I believe I owe you a favour."

"Aziraphael," Crowley murmured desperately. "Him ... His favour ... Help him ..."

"Shush, little brother. Your beloved is safe. Now sleep. You need it. Sleep ..."

Crowley slept.

XXX

Aziraphael woke.

For a moment, he was lost. He felt warm, loved, safer than any spirit could be. The sensation was familiar to him, to any angel who had occasion to touch upon the Presence. But for some reason, he felt as if he shouldn't be feeling this. There was something in the back of his mind, some memory, that told him that he no longer deserved to feel this way. He no longer deserved to feel the warmth of his Lord's Presence, to know the clean light of Heaven.

Light. He remembered a light. Not like this. A bad light. An evil illumination. Hell. He'd known the light of Hell! They'd taken him! Oh Lord, Beelzebub. That touch, that foul creeping invasion, corruption. The taint ... He'd thought he'd Fell. He'd been sure of it. How then had he come once more to Heaven's shores? How ... ?

Crowley! Aziraphael jerked up, eyes flying open as he searched desperately for the demon. What had Crowley done? Lord above, what had his demon done to get him to Heaven itself? He scrambled around, temporarily blinded by the bright gaze of Heaven's sun, the light of God himself. After the deprivations of Hell, and so long under the lesser light of Earth, his eyes couldn't handle it just yet. But he had to find Crowley. If Crowley was here ... But he couldn't be. No demon could survive the path to Heaven. That was why the war was fought on Earth. The holiness here would destroy the demon. But that meant ... NO!

"Crowley!" he cried. "Where are you? Crowley!" Please, don't let him be gone. Please, don't let them have left him Down There. Ah, Lord. What choice had his demon made? Heaven would destroy him, but so would Hell, slowly and painfully. Aziraphael had suffered for two days. What would Crowley suffer if he remained there? For eternity? No. He wouldn't allow that! If Crowley had stayed, then Aziraphael would destroy Hell itself to bring him back! But if he hadn't ... Then no force could bring his demon back to him. If Crowley had come to Heaven, then Aziraphael would never see him again.

"Crowley," he wept. "Demon, what choice have you made? Why did you have to be so honourable? Why couldn't you have left me?" He remembered the demon coming for him, remembered Crowley facing down Beelzebub himself in his defense. He remembered the Crowley's tender touch as he whispered his goodbye, before the demon had sent him to sleep. He remembered, and fury welled up in him. Crowley was a demon! He wasn't supposed to sacrifice himself, not for an angel's sake! That was Aziraphael's job. Crowley wasn't meant to die! "Why couldn't you leave me?" he whispered, brokenly.

"Because he could never have brought himself to abandon you," a voice answered him. Aziraphael turned towards it, towards the warmth of it's compassion. He knew that voice. A hand touched him gently between the eyes. He flinched back, visceral memory prompting the panicked movement, but there was no harm in this Spirit. He knew that, relaxed into the knowledge as his sight returned, and he looked again into the face of his Lord.

The Son of God smiled down at him. "Little brother was strange that way," he went on, crouching down in front of Aziraphael so they could be eye to eye. Such consideration was characteristic of this Presence. "He never so much Fell as ... wandered downwards. There was little hate in him. He could never have left you. Not you. He cared too much for you."

Aziraphael swallowed. "Little ... little brother?" he asked, hesitantly, not sure he understood. The grin that answered him seemed to brighten even this place of perpetual light. Jesus smiled in amused remembrance, a sparkle of something like mischief in his eyes. It was that that told Aziraphael that it was Crowley the other spoke of. Only his demon could put that glimmer of unholy joy in the eyes of the holiest of Spirits.

"Your Crowley is quite a character," the Son of God smiled. "First time I met him, and what does he do? Does he try to tempt me while I'm weaker and human? No. He calls me his big brother and explains his worldview to me."

Aziraphael had to smile at that. It sounded exactly like something his demon would do. Had done. Could never do again. Crowley was ...

"He's not gone," Jesus said softly, pulling the angel out of his dark thoughts. Aziraphael couldn't restrain his desperately hopeful glance, his silent entreaty. The compassionate smile that answered reassured him. Then Jesus stood, holding out a hand to him. "Come, Aziraphael," he commanded gently.

He obeyed, putting his hand in his Lord's with a trust that was woundingly foreign to him after his experience in Hell. He saw other angels watching in awe as the Son of God led him to an enclosure, an room shaped of light in the midst of Heaven's plain. He wondered at their looks, at their awe. Was it so unusual now for an angel to speak with the Presence? He hadn't been here in so long, and, strangely, hadn't missed it so badly. His duty would have been a torment to most, estranged from Heaven and the Presence for years on end, but it hadn't troubled him overmuch. That was thanks to Crowley. It was hard to dwell too long on what he was missing when his demon was pulling some stupid stunt, or helping him save the world, or complaining loudly about the closure of one of their favoured Italian cafes.

Aziraphael started at the thought. Had Crowley really held such an influence over him? Had the demon's companionship truly held such power for him that it could lessen even the loss of Heaven? He pondered as Jesus led him into the closed off space, but then he caught sight of its occupant, and all thought fled away, save one.

"Crowley!" he cried, dropping the leading hand and rushing to his demon's side. He caught hold of Crowley's hand, clasped it, as he stared into his friend's still face, desperately searching for some sign of life in the exotic features. He gasped thankfully as he found it. He hadn't realised it, but Crowley was beautiful. The delicacy of his bones owed something to his serpentine origins, but it was the spirit that lived in those structured features that enchanted. The air of barely restrained mischief, the sly grin that slid easily onto his face, the glimmer of amusement in the golden eyes ... He wanted Crowley to open his eyes. He wanted to see them, wanted to know that his demon was still who he used to be, was still alive in there. He wanted to know that Heaven hadn't stolen his demon away.

"Crowley," he whispered, feathering his fingers over the still face with more care and tenderness than any of his precious books had ever recieved. The movement woke some semi-conscious memory, of a touch like that over his own face, of Crowley's slender fingers lingering with care over him. "Wake up, Crowley. Wake up, dear. Come back to me, beloved. Please?"

In his concern for his demon, Aziraphael had forgotted even the Presence behind him, so he was startled when Jesus stepped softly up beside him. He looked at his Lord, the hope painfully obvious in his face. He knew it, but he didn't care. Jesus nodded, sympathy and love in his eyes, then laid his hand over the angel's on Crowley's face.

"Time to wake, little brother," he called softly.

Aziraphael watched his demon's face hungrily, every part of him tensed. Then the eyelids fluttered back, revealed confused golden eyes, and he couldn't hold himself back, leaning down over Crowley to hold his head to his chest, crying softly in joy.

Crowley was awake.

XXX

The vestiges of the memory still hanging on the edges of perception caused Crowley a moment's confusion as he opened his eyes to look once more upon his brother's face. Except here the face was lit from within with the fire of the Presence. Here the face was not the worn face of a desert-bred carpenter. Here, it was the Son of God, the Second Aspect. Crowley felt a shimmer of fear, concerned for his essence in the face of that holy fire. Then arms latched onto him, pulling him into a warm, desperate embrace. His head was held against someone's chest, against warm flesh scented even now with the bookish smell he knew and loved. Aziraphael. His angel.

"Crowley," Aziraphael wept over him. "You're alive. You're alive. Oh, you idiot. You idiot demon! You're alive. I don't know how, but you are. Thank God. Crowley."

Alive? He was alive? Why? Shouldn't he be? What ... Oh no. He hadn't ... But he had. He had been that stupid. He'd actually had the hairbrained audacity to summon God into Hell. Well, the Second Aspect, but it was the same thing. He, Crawly, serpent of the Garden, had summoned Jesus into Hell. Oh, shit.

But his angel was here. Aziraphael was here, which meant he'd been successful. He'd saved his angel. That was all that mattered. Unless ... Unless they were both still in Hell. Unless they hadn't escaped, and all his desperate plan had achieved was to render him unable to defend Aziraphael. No!

He pulled himself upright, backing out of his angel's encircling arms to stare wildly around him. He touched once more on his brother's Presence, and gasped as realisation hit. Not Hell. No, not there. Idiot that he was, he'd ended up in Heaven. The first demon to ever achieve the White Plains. He was in Heaven. He looked desperately at Aziraphael.

"Angel. Aziraphael. I ... I can't be here! Aziraphael, I'm a demon! I can't be in Heaven! Aziraphael!" His angel reached out to grasp his shoulders, steadying him. He grasped the supporting hands, holding onto them. He couldn't be here. He should be dead. There was no way his essence could have survived both calling the Son of God, and existing in the holiness that was Heaven. He should be dead!

Aziraphael pulled him back into his embrace, holding him as if any second something would tear him from the angel's grasp. His angel knew what he meant, and it frightened the shit out of him. Aziraphael was afraid for him. His angel was afraid for him, and wanted to protect him. Despite it all, the thought eased Crowley's fear.

"But you can be here, little brother," Jesus interupted gently. "You can feel it yourself. No fire attacks your essence. You are not destroyed by my Presence, or that of my Father which permeants this place. Don't you see, little brother? You are home. You've come home."

Crowley stared at him. Above him, Aziraphael did the same. He felt a tremor run through his angel. Could He mean ... Could big brother actually mean what he thought he did? But it was impossible. Angels Fell. That was it. They couldn't just decide afterwards that they didn't like it, and hop back on the elevator. Once you'd Fallen, you were a demon. That was the way things worked. It didn't go the other way around.

"Little brother," Jesus remonstrated gently, a smile on his face. "Crowley. You said it yourself. The greater the sin, the more glorious the redemption. Remember? What more glorious and audacious redeeming act could you have performed? You called me into Hell itself, not for your sake, but to save someone you loved. You sacrificed everything, your life, your safety, your very essence, to save this soul. You have Ascended, little brother. Not because of repentance, but because of love. That is all that is needed. To love another enough to give everything you have to help them. A love that is requited, in enough force to allow your angel to ignore my Presence in concern for you." He smiled radiently at them. "Little brothers, you cannot know the love I feel for you seeing this. You cannot know the joy you have brought my Father and I."

They looked at him, at his joyous Presence, and then at each other. Crowley looked up into his angel's eyes, and saw there an awe and a love that had nothing to do with Heaven, or Hell, or any of it. He saw in Aziraphael's eyes not an angel's random love, but the kind of love he had seen when two human souls found in each other the perfect expression of unity and joy. He saw true love, the kind that could move a universe if it had to, and knew that Aziraphael could see the same thing in his. He could not else, because Crowley's love was Aziraphael's, and vice versa. He knew that now.

He looked back at his big brother, a sly smile on his face. "Oh, I don't know about that, bro. I think Aziraphael and I might have a pretty good idea of joy right now."

"Indeed," his angel murmured, holding him close. "And of love."

Crowley frowned briefly. "Isn't what we have ... Aren't he and I ... sort of ... forbidden? You know, being the same. Aside from the whole demon/angel thing, which seems to have sorted itself out. I'm not a demon anymore, am I?"

"No," Jesus laughed. "You're not. I think, little brother, that you are what you have ever been. I think you're you. That is all you need be. And as for the other ... What love such as this could be forbidden? Was not love the entirity of my message? That's all We want. We wanted a world where people, of their own free will, chose to love each other. Do you think We would forbid you a love that has defied Hell and Heaven themselves? And even if We did, would it stop you?"

"No," Crowley whispered. "Not even if I had to Fall again."

"Not even if I had to Fall with him," Aziraphael added solemnly. "We would be happy enough on Earth for it not to matter, as long as we had each other."

Crowley gazed up at his angel, at the seriousness with which he promised that, and something within him that had always felt lost and tormented eased at last. He had Aziraphael. No matter what. What was that human phrase? Come Hell or high water. They had each other.

"Aziraphael ..." he whispered. His angel looked down at him, and smiled at what he found in the golden eyes staring up at him. Aziraphael dipped his golden head, and laid his forehead gently against Crowley's.

"Crowley," he whispered back, and lowered his lips into the kiss. And Crowley was content at last. It was all they needed to say.

XXX

"Angel! Are you coming or not!"

Aziraphael sighed at the shout that echoed up the stairs of their London flat. Shaking his head in exasperation, he placed the volume he'd been tending carefully back in its place, and dusted it lightly before turning towards the door. Crowley stood there, rumpled and happily angry, having climbed the stairs in his impatience. For a moment, Aziraphael just stared at him, at the waves of dark hair arranged in artful disarray, at the expression of disgruntlement that barely disguised the happiness that lurked perpetually beneath the surface of Crowley's demeanor these days. He looked at this vibrant, mischievious creature that had stormed Hell itself for him, and his heart gave the little jump that was rapidly becoming a regular occurence. He smiled. Crowley's presence had changed even the beat of his heart. How fitting.

"Yes dear. I am coming. I was just finishing the latest volume. There's no need to yell."

"Hmpf. Whatever. You ready yet?" The tone was playful, teasing. Aziraphael shook his head in wonder, before walking over to Crowley and taking his head in his hands. He rested his forehead against the other's, staring straight into those golden eyes.

"I'm ready whenever you are, Crowley. Always." The serpentine gaze softened, melted. Crowley raised his face gently and kissed him, almost reverently. There was always an element of quiet awe in the way Crowley touched him, a tenderness that utterly erased the remembrance of the last hands that had taken him that way. With Crowley, even the Prince of Hell's touch was a distant memory. Only the Presence could come close, and that barely. Crowley was his light, his love. His demon, that had Ascended from Hell for him. His angel.

"My angel," he murmured.

Crowley smiled into the kiss, then pulled away, regretfully and yet teasingly. "We are late, Az. Gabriel is waiting for us, and I've yet to introduce him to the delights of mortal Amsterdam. You wouldn't want to miss his face when he sees our destination, would you?" Aziraphael laughed.

"Alright, alright. But you realise this is hardly an angelic endeavour?"

The flame of mischief in Crowley's eyes could have set a nun's habit alight, and Aziraphael couldn't help but thrill at the wicked laugh that escaped his love's lips. "Aziraphael, love," Crowley laughed, "that's the whole point!"

Aziraphael sighed as they roared away in the precious Bentley, breaking every possible speed limit along the way to Soho, where a highly disconcerted archangel awaited them. Some things, he thought, would simply never change.

Thank God.

XXX

Well? That's it for this one, people. I think all that had to be said has been said. And in case you're wondering, I'm not actually all that religious. I just think that Jesus, along with a number of other enlightened men and women, may have had a point. If love is there, then that's all that matters.

Leave me a review? Share your views. It makes you feel better. Trust me. I know.